


Let's circle the wagons (and light 'em on fire)

by Islanderlass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Although knowing me it could turn into porn with plot, Crazy Albus Dumbledore, Delores Umbridge is even more unpopular, Don't worry, F/M, Fear the Weasley twins, Gen, Goblins just wanna have fun, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, I Don't Even Know, I'm warning you right now, Marriage Law Parody, Multi, No one likes Molly much, Okay not that much of parody, Ron deserves nice things, Ron is probably 20 years away from any kind of relationship, Rubeus Hagrid springs Harry from the Dursleys (again), The Author Regrets Nothing, The Dursleys won't escape unscathed, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, seriously I'm starting to ship it damn it, that part really is crack, this is the story of a thousand shifting tags, who shall I ship Fleur with?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-06-17 02:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15451332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Islanderlass/pseuds/Islanderlass
Summary: It is the summer after Harry Potter’s fourth year. The Dark Lord has returned. He has an Evil Master Plan, which means that it’s doomed for failure. Albus Dumbledore has a Marvelous Counter Attack, which means, well, everyone hates it. Filius Flitwick would like to grade essays, get some sleep, and get sloshed…but clearly, it is up to him solve this mess in a sensible manner. (Hooch doesn’t think his plan is sensible, at all, but she does enjoy the fires he starts.)





	1. This is either madness...or brilliance.

**Author's Note:**

> There are certain things in the Harry Potter fandom that stump me. There are possibly thousands of HG/Snape, and nearly no Hermione/Flitwick. Now, I find the very idea of the Marriage Law Challenge insane, but hey, if it did happen in canon, Snape is literally the last person who should marry Hermione. A sane version would involve a Gryffindor or Kingsley Shacklebolt. This ain't the sane version. 
> 
> THIS IS CRACK, PEOPLE. CRACK, I TELL YOU. It might involve some kind of teacher/student naughtiness eventually, but it so far involves badly behaved teachers, horny plants, and an Argus Filch who isn't what he seems. There are no warnings that really work for this, SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 
> 
> (I can't promise this will progress on a regular basis, but if you have mad, crack-y suggestions for our Band of Crazy Teachers, c'mon, give them to me in the comments)

“Severus Snape, you cannae be seriously considering this harebrained scheme!”

 

Filius Flitwick had just entered the Teacher’s Parlor to find Minerva and Severus facing off. Filius would have liked to pretend that he cared deeply about whatever his colleagues were fighting about, but that would have taken more energy than he currently possessed. Also, knowing the colleagues in question, it was probably about Harry Potter, the Quidditch cup, or who had devoured the last molasses cookie.

 

“What’s it to you if I am?” Severus had his arms folded and he was staring down his nose at Minerva. He’d tossed his black robes over an arm chair, and today, Filius noted, Severus wore his _Rage Against the Machine_ t-shirt, which meant nothing at all good. Maybe he planned to free the house elves; maybe he planned to chain himself to Fortescue’s railing until the ice cream maker brought back his favorite flavor of gelato. Who knew? Who cared?

 

“She’s a wee, innocent bairn! A school girl, ye pervert!”

 

“What, pray tell, are her other options? And it takes one to know one—yesterday, I saw you and Argus using the Devil’s Snare in Greenhouse 5 for kinbaku-style bondage.”

 

“What?” shrieked Pomona. “Minerva, my plants are sensitive, innocent beings.”

 

“Bullocks,” Minerva rolled her eyes. “That Snare stuck its largest vine right inside me at a very critical moment; Argus is still sulking. And Severus, stop trying to distract me. There are plenty of eligible men out there.”

 

“Name one.”

 

“Ronald Weasley.”

 

“What is he eligible for?” Asked Filius. “I mean, I have graded his essays for four years now, and I’ve yet to find any sign the boy has a functioning brain. Pray tell me, so that I may find a way to wring intelligent discourse from him.”

 

“He clearly has a brain, Filius, you keep passing him!”

 

“That, my dear Minerva, is simply in order to limit my contact to Molly Weasley as much as humanly possible.”

 

Severus looked aggravated. “I should have thought of that.”

 

“Oh, you’re far too much of an ethical and caring teacher to even consider such a notion,” said Hooch.

 

Severus, as usual, couldn’t seem to decide if Hooch was serious or mocking him, so he ignored it. (Serious, this time, given that Snape cared a great deal more about teaching than than anyone else in the room. That is not to say they didn’t care about education, bur four years of Harry Potter’s adventures had well and truly destroyed any expectation of productivity.)

 

“Ronald Weasley is an abject moron.”

 

“Charlie Weasley.”

 

“Flaming homosexual.”

 

“Percy Weasley.”

 

“Dating that Clearwater chit.”

 

“Fred and George Weasley.”

 

“What, together?”

 

Meanwhile, Filius had settled into his favorite chair. He leaned toward Hooch and asked, “What are they talking about?”

 

“Marriage Law,” Rolanda Hooch said. “All single Muggleborn witches with wand rights must accept the proposal of a Pureblood so that they are better integrated in our culture.”

 

“Why not just bring back Wizarding Culture as an elective?”

 

“Because that wouldn’t give Draco Malfoy an excuse to torment Miss Granger, or Voldemort an excuse to torment Mr. Potter, or Albus an excuse to torment the rest of us.”

 

“Aha! I have it! Bill Weasley!” Said Minerva.

 

“Secretly married to a nice Gobliness, with four year old twins,” said Filius.

 

“Don’t even joke, Filius. Molly would throw a real wobbler if she heard that,” muttered Argus Filch. “If I hear one more of her howlers, I’m cutting off Gred’s ears.”

 

“Please stop referring to the Weasley twins by that ridiculous monicker,” said Minerva. “Also, Argus, how would the loss of their ears help?”

 

“It’d make me feel better.”

 

“Right. Have we exhausted all possible Weasleys yet?” Severus heaved a sigh.

 

“Arthur,” said Filius.

 

“Filius, he is married with seven children,” sputtered Minerva.

 

“Molly Weasley could fall off a bridge, or into a river, or eat a poisonous mushroom, though!” Filius poured himself a cup of coffee and added a generous gallop of whiskey. “Where do the Weasleys live again?"

 

“She’s not the outdoorsy sort,” said Argus thoughtfully. “Are there charms that make a mop go mad and strangle someone? I reckon I would part with one of mine, for such a worthy cause.”

 

“You—and you,“ Minerva stabbed her finger at Argus and then Filius, “are to stop joking about murdering the woman right now! Do you hear me?”

 

“I suppose it’s far too late anyway,” Filius selected a dubious looking pastry, and bit into it. Jam filled his mouth. Mm, raspberry. “Really should have taken action after their third son came into this world.”

 

“Yes, but who could predict Forge?”

 

“Well, Argus, supposedly Sibyl.” Both men laughed uproariously.

 

Minerva’s lips twitched. Severus said, with a theatrical sweep of his arm, “Bullying is wrong! What if Sybil were here to hear that?”

 

Filius chose to ignore the blatant hypocrisy; after all, Snape’s favorite targets, the Gryffindors, usually created their own problems with the Great Dungeon Bat. He said, “So, Severus, tell us, howlong have you been madly in love with Miss Granger? What does it for you, exactly? Her toffee colored eyes? Her fine mane of hair that any kelpie would envy? Her great love of the simple House Elf? Or…” Severus looked about ready to skin him like a boomslang. He snapped his fingers and continued, “I know! The way she sets fire to your robes! Ah, the Flames of Youthful Passion!”

 

Hooch fell out of her chair laughing uproariously. Both Hooch and Filius never failed to remind Severus of the time an ickle first year had managed to set Severus’s favorite set of work robes aflame.

 

Severus drew himself up and said coldly, “I do not want to marry the insufferable chit. Albus says that I am the only reasonable candidate in the Order, and that I may, ahem, temper Miss Granger’s more…immature…outbursts.”

 

Filius reckoned that what Albus really meant was that Severus would stifle Miss Granger’s attempts to drill some self preservation and study skills into Harry Potter. Well, that just wouldn’t do.

 

“There truly aren’t any men in the Club of the Tremendous Cock-ups?” asked Hooch dubiously. “I thought that was surely the sort of name that would only draw men.”

 

“It’s the Order of the Phoenix, Ro, and of course there at men in it! But plenty of women are in it too, including me!” Minerva said.

 

“Yes, dear,” said Madam Sprout, “But you like cocks of all sorts, so really, we didn’t find that unusual.”

 

Minerva was actually rendered speechless by that. Filius made a note to buy Pomona something very nice indeed for Yule this year. Perhaps he could drug Severus and make one of those custom dildos using the Prodigious Prick of Slytherin as a model. Pomona’s husband had the worst sort of crush on the Potions Master.

 

“There are indeed other men,” said Albus, gliding into the room. “But Severus is the youngest, and surely Miss Granger will enjoy his fine mind.” His eyes twinkled madly. “Won’t a wedding be wonderful? We can have Molly Weasley decorate, I can pick out the robes, and you can all provide a nice dish for the potluck!”

 

As he chased Snape from the room, babbling about writing vows and choosing rings, the others looked at each other in horror.

 

Argus said, “Listen, you lot, we have got to stop this!”

 

“Yes, but what can we do?” Minerva poured herself a glass of whisky, then looked at the glass and the bottle, shrugged and lifted the bottle to her lips. She slugged back a good gulp, and passed the bottle to Rolanda.

 

Hooch swigged some of the whisky, and said “We need someone devious enough to take Albus on.” She passed the bottle to Sprout.

 

Sprout diluted her hot cocoa and said, “Mind you, also tenacious enough to herd both Granger and Potter.” She passed the bottle to Septima.

 

“Obnoxious enough to bully the Ministry,” said Septima. “And clever enough to get away with it.” The Arithmancy professor sniffed the whisky and wrinkled her nose. She passed the bottle to Charity Burbage.

 

Charity Burbage took the bottle and dumped the rest in the sink. The rest of the teachers groaned. The Muggle-born Studies Professor said primly, “The smaller the drink, the clearer the head, and the cooler the blood. People, let’s not forget that this also needs to be someone who can appreciate both Miss Granger’s past and future, expand her horizons, and possibly curb her tendency to write verbose essays.”

 

Flitwick said, “I’ve always been of the opinion that if one wants something done right, it’s best to just do it in the first place.”

 

The others looked at him in surprise.

 

“Surely, Filius…” Minerva furrowed her brow, “You don’t mean that you want to marry Miss Granger yourself.”

 

“That,” said Filius, “Is in fact precisely what I intend to do.”

 

Sprout said thoughtfully, “You do realize that you’ll get dragged into Potter’s lunacy.”

 

“If I am, I will be dragging the rest of you idiots with me.”

 

“If you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well join ‘em.” Argus rubbed his hands together and laughed gleefully. “Maybe we can enlist Gred, too.”

 

“Mercy me,” said Septima faintly, no doubt picturing Argus and the Weasley twins cooperating for once. “I will say, though, Filius, that there is no single entity so inclined to to take on the Ministry as the Horde. Neither is there another entity that will frustrate blood purists and Albus alike.” Filius was, contrary to popular belief, a member in good standing of the Goblin Horde. He worked at Hogwarts only because he’d lost a duel to Augusta Longbottom. Bloody woman had made sure he was hungover the night of the match.

 

Rolanda said brightly, “Well, it sounds insane to me, Filius, but it’s not as if this was going to be a calm, constructive year anyway. You bring the matches, I’ll bring the kerosene!”

And so, the Hogwarts’ Staff Plot of World Domination began. It would prove to be far more successful (and explosive) than even the warped mind of Madam Hooch could predict.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Once upon a time, there was a dentist, a Puckle, and a littler Puckle...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filius sets off to plight his troth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Second chapter, and a plot has already commenced. So much for utter crack. So sorry.

The next day, Filius went to the Ministry to retrieve a Marriage Contract, Gringotts to retrieve a Writ of Apprenticeship, and Harrods to find clothing that looked like it had been acquired in this decade. (He had several bespoke suits from the Roaring Twenties, but really hadn’t spent muchtime in the muggle world since women started wearing the more dowdy, serviceable wear of the thirties.) He got sidetracked in the Harrods food court, but eventually managed to tear himself away from the Oyster Bar and head off to the Granger residence wearing a magically altered pair of designer jeans, bronze Birkenstocks, and a linen Ravenclaw blue dress shirt.The Flitwicks were one and all snappy dressers, and closet hedonists. They created beautiful objects of utility, charged the earth for them, and then splurged on other craftsmen’s treasures.

 

Flitwick was rather unusual in his success as a duellist, in fact. Flitwicks were not generally all that interested in blood sport, or potential scarification. Filius enjoyed carnage, both real and figurative, and had an impressive reputation for someone so young. For you must remember that one hundred eighty-seven and three-quarters was very young for a member of the fey, even for a halfling.Filius wore a blood glamour at all times among humans, for he found it far easier to get away with mischief if he appeared to be a cheerful, tiny man of indeterminate age. Without it, he appeared not much older than his eldest students.

 

He knocked briskly on the Grangers’ door and Dr. Monica Granger opened it. “Filius!” She cried. “How very lovely to see you. Do come in!”

 

“Hello, Puckle,” Flitwick said, “Would Dell and Puckle the Younger be in today?” Filius had met the Dr. Grangers when he had been tasked with delivering Hermione Granger’s invitation to Hogwarts. He’d been thoroughly impressed by the grilling he’s received. He initially stayed in touch with both elder Grangers concerning their daughter’s grades, but their correspondence had quickly shifted to discussions of travel, Goblin Craft, and All The Ways People Could Be Really Quite Stupid.

 

“Yes, of course. You’re in luck, in fact. We just returned from France, you see, and I have a lovely bottle of rose chilling right now. Would you care to stay for lunch?”

 

“Certainly!” Filius followed the woman into the airy kitchen at the back of the house where Dr. Daniel Granger was busily preparing food.

 

“Look, Wendy, darling, Filius is here!”

 

“Excellent timing, man!” Wendell Granger was the sort of upbeat, sadistic Dentist that one so often meets in the profession. He collected antique dentistry tools, displayed them in his waiting room, and enjoyed tells long stories about the horrific past of Dentistry once he had his victims—I mean patients—in the chair, mouth full. “Did Mony tell you about the wine?”

 

“She did indeed.”

 

“Well, have a seat, Filius. Lunch will be ready shortly. Any aversion to pork or cheese?”

 

“No self respecting Goblin would turn down either, Dell!”

 

“Excellent!”

 

“I think I’ll inform Hermione you’re here, and make sure she is properly unpacking. That child never seems to get around unpacking all of her lovely clothing—it’s simply books, books and more books!” Monica swished out of the room, and her kitten heels were soon to be heard clicking up the wood stairs.

 

“So,” Dell carefully spread butter on the bread, and set about assembling the sandwiches, “What brings you here today?”

 

“A proposition of sorts for Puckle the Younger. If she doesn’t care for it, I’ll help the three of you come up with a more tolerable solution.”

 

Dell looked at Filius and asked seriously, “Does this have anything to do with the Marriage Law idiocy?”

 

“Oh, good, I’m glad you’re aware of that.”

 

Dell returned his focus to the food prepping. “We spent two weeks in the Loire Valley with the Delacours. Lovely people. They’ve offered to help us move if it becomes necessary.”

 

Flitwick blinked. “That may be a far better solution than the one I have to offer you.”

 

“Hm. Well, there is at least one snag in that plan so far. I’m sure little Puck will tell you all about it.” He opened a gleaming panini press and slid the sandwiches into place just as Monica returned with her daughter.

 

“Professor Flitwick!” Hermione bounced over and shook his hand, smiling widely. “How is your puzzle box project going?”

 

“I’ve not been very productive this summer as of yet, sad to say,” Filius barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping. He’d expected the bushy haired, modestly dressed child he saw at school. This girl had shiny straightened hair and wore a white linen crop top, tiny scarlet shorts, and gold fringed flip flops. “You look very prepared for the current heat wave, Miss Granger.”

 

“Oh, it was quite hot in France, you know, and Fleur insisted on taking me around to all of the boutiques.”

 

“Well, it looks very breezy,” he said lamely.

 

Dell raised his brows and nudged Monica, who giggled.

 

“What?” Asked Hermione with no little suspicion.

 

“Nothing, darling, I’m simply filled with the joy of anticipation over that wine.” Monica opened the freezer, removed the bottle, and made quick work of feeling three glasses. Filius helped her carry them over to the table, and Hermione helped Dell distribute the prosciutto paninis and cucumber salad. “Bon Appetite,” cried Monica.

 

After they’d all finished eating, the adults helped themselves to a second glass of Rose and Hermione fetched ice water and strawberries for herself. “So, Professor, what brings you visiting today? Is everyone all right?”

 

He knew she was thinking of young Cedric and Voldemort’s alleged return and hurriedly reassured her. “Oh, no, nothing is wrong, at least not in the way that you’re thinking. Strange mischief afoot, though, and my fellow teachers and I thought that meddling may be the correct choice for once.”

 

Hermione looked glum. “S’pose my parents told you we may move to France. I adore Paris, you know, but I don’t wish to leave Hogwarts.”

 

“Even if it involves less than ideal compromise?”

 

“My own compromise seem relatively minor, if I can avoid absolute disaster.” She chewed her bottom lip—stained red from strawberry juice, he noticed—and said in a rush, “Have you been reading the Prophet?”

 

“Afraid so,” said Filius. “Is Mister Potter aware of the ongoing character assassination?”

 

She shook her head. “No. I’ve been so worried! The headmaster asked us to not write him, you see.”

 

Filius took a sip of the wine—as excellent as Monica had claimed—and replied gently, “The Headmaster really has no say over who you do or do not write out of school, Miss Granger.”

 

She nodded. “Yes. But he’s put up some very illegal mail wards at the Dursleys.”

 

Monica said dryly “You are not the first visitor we had this summer, and if it had not been you, Fil, Wendy would have likely greeted you with a nineteenth century dental drill and pliers.”

 

“Have you considered muggle post?”

 

“Yes, but Hermione rejected that out of hand,” said Dell.

 

Hermione said, “The Dursleys are the worst sort, you see, and I didn’t want to add to Harry’s burden by angering them further.”

 

“Anyway,” said Dell, “Hermione dislikes leaving Harry to the dubious protection of the Headmaster, and she believes that if we were to abscond with him, certain parties would certainly give chase.”

 

“She would be right,” said Filius gravely. “The Dark Lord would certainly be interested, but I believe Albus would be a far greater pill about it.”

 

“What does Albus think of this Marriage Law?”

 

“He seems worryingly chipper about it.” Filius set down his glass and asked, “May I be frank?”

 

“Certainly, Fil. That is what we were hoping for; we’d been about to send you a letter when you arrived, in fact.”

 

“Albus has lost his marbles,” Filius said bluntly. “Instead of attempting to rein the Ministry in, he’s decided that Hermione shall marry a man of his choosing.”

Dell narrowed his eyes and twirled his knife between his fingers. “Oh?”

 

“Severus Snape.”

 

Dell plunged the knife between the table’s leaves; Monica downed the rest of her wine, and reached for the bottle to quickly refill. Hermione looked green. “Ew. Just Ew. He’s a former Death Eater and he hates Harry, Professor. He doesn’t like me much either.”

 

“He doesn’t really like anyone, to be fair. Albus has appealed to Snape’s sense of guilt. The older staff members are quite irate and concerned. They decided that you needed another option.”

 

“I’m just another Muggleborn,” Hermione looked confused, “Why would any of you be particularly concerned on my behalf?”

 

Dell hissed, “You’re not ‘just’ anything, Puck. That damn school!”

 

“Your father is quite right. You are an intelligent, driven young lady that shows a great deal of promise. More to the point, we protect our children, Miss Granger. The fact that we have been less successful in the case of you and your friends is not something that sits well with any of us. But,” Filius grimaced, “To be completely honest, my friends, I will admit that my presence is at least partly due to the fact that my co-conspirators have decided that if they are not to be allowed to operate within the bounds of their duties, they might as well stand at the outside, pissing in.”

 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Dell and Monica laughed. “Resistance! Now we’re talking!” Said Dell. “So what’s the idea?”

 

Filius sighed. “To be honest, your idea of moving to France is probably the path I would advise. Mr. Potter would not want you to put yourself at risk, and if my offer was the path you chose to take, you’d not only become a target for the more bigoted members of Ministry, you’d also become of interest to Albus, and become ensnared in the general insanity of our lives. A move to France would extend your childhood a bit longer, Miss Granger, and I’m sure your parents want that for you.”

 

“Don’t presume what we would choose,” said Monica briskly. “You can lay out the options, but we will make the choice, Filius.”

 

Dell nodded. “Hermione is fifteen. That seems young to us, and must seem even younger to you. But my father enlisted in World War II at that age, and I met Mony shortly before I turned fifteen. I knew she was the one for me, and I’ve never once looked back.”

 

“I won’t leave Harry,” said Hermione obstinately. “I know you’ll do your best to help him, but he never had friends before Hogwarts, you know, and I just can’t abandon him.”

 

Filius frowned. Harry, with no friends before Hogwarts? He and the others had speculated that Harry had not had a good childhood, but this went beyond a merely rocky upbringing. What was Albus thinking? Suddenly he realized the Grangers were staring impatiently at him. “Very sorry, woolgathering.”

 

“That’s fine. We are simply wondering about your plan, as you haven’t actually explained it yet,” said Dell.

 

“Daddy!”

“No, Dell is quite right. What do you know about Goblin Apprenticeship, Miss Granger?”

 

“Nothing much. I came across a book that made it sound more like an internship that leads to a job, though. I couldn’t figure out how that differed for Fosterage—the sources are unclear.”

 

Filius nodded briskly. “The differences are not really of interest to most wizards. Very few will have any experience with Fosterage. Apprenticeship is a little more common, but still, not very likely. In both cases, there is a strong element of kinship. In fosterage, a young child is hosted and more or less reared by another family.”

 

“For what purpose?” Asked Monica. “To protect orphans?”

 

“No. Orphans are very rare; a goblin is not considered Orphaned unless their entire clan has died. And at that point, they are likely close to death as well. No, Fosterage is more along the lines of nurturing specific skills. The Flitwicks are candlemakers, for example. One cousins is actually a Boom by birth, but he hada deft touch and a sense of artistry. His father came to my uncle and asked if they’d be interested in another child. Understand that my cousin is still a Boom, but his trade and Fostering gives him the right to use the name Flitwick.”

 

The Grangers nodded.

 

“An Apprenticeship is not really an apprenticeship. It is in the sense that the Apprentice is welcomed into the family, and taught their trade. But it’s generally an older individual, and the Trade is not the primary goal.”

 

“What is then?” Asked Hermione.

 

“In Goblin society, we are egalitarian. Upon mating, the couple gain the same status.”

 

“Higher or lower?” Monica went to refill her wine glass but Wendell placed his hand on her arm and shook his head. She sat back.

 

“It’s less about rank and more about the old adage of not harnessing an expensive race horse with a plodding plow horse. Goblin Magic is Goblin Craft. To create a lasting partnership, Goblins believe that a couple must be like minded. So, if a Smith marries a glass blower, they choose whichever path the the highest potential for growth. That is usually, but not always, the field of whoever the master is, because if they were both masters, they would probably already be mated to fellow Smiths or Glassblowers. This is the other difference between Fosterage and Apprenticeship. The Fostered is the responsibility of the whole clan; the Apprentice is welcomed by the clan but shaped, one might say, to specifically suit his or her mate.”

 

“I see,” said Hermione, “So is the idea to offer me a fosterage or Apprenticeship?”

 

“A fosterage would not protect you under this new law,” said Filius. “I am essentially offering you my hand in marriage, and the protection of my kin.”

 

Dell snorted. “How’d you get stuck with the short straw?”

 

“Well, first, I’m an unattached male,” said the Charms Professor dryly. “And second, I believe my coworkers decided that I was the only one who would be mad enough to take on the Ministry, Albus, and the Death Eaters.” He sighed. “And, y’see, they know that my kin will stand with me. The ministry might target the young wife of Ronald Weasley. The Death Eaters might kill Snape for his perceived betrayal—if they did not assume your daughter was a plaything to be shared.” Dell and Monica looked sick. “Albus would most certainly take an interest in controlling Harry Potter’s wife. But all three entities will think twice about taking on the Horde over a young Muggle Born girl.”

 

Hermione nodded, “Goblin rebellions.”

 

“Yes indeed. One thing to have an alleged revival of a dark lord on your hands. Another to have thousands of Goblin spears aimed at your collective groin.”

 

“Well,” said Dell. “As my Mony says, it is most emphatically up to our daughter. Well, little Puck?”

 

“I have questions.”

 

Filius said wryly, “I would be far more worried if you did not. Fire away.”

 

The Grangers grinned toothily.

 

Monica said, “Hermione. Before you start, would you like your father and I to give you and Fil some privacy?” Dell reluctantly murmured his agreement.

 

Hermione shook her head. “Just—don’t jump in, okay? Unless I ask for your input. I’d like you here for support, but some of my questions are of a personal nature, and, well, I don’t want you to influence Professor Flitwick’s answers.”

 

“We understand.” Chorused her parents.

 

“Miss Granger,” Filius said gently, “for this conversation, I give you permission to address me as Filius or Flitwick, whichever you prefer.”

 

“Filius. Please, call me Puck.” She blushed when the adults looked surprised. “You’re my parents’ friend, and it feels right when you call me that.”

 

“All right, Puck,” Filius folded his arms and propped himself up on the table, “Continue.”

 

“My first concern is Harry. Will he be welcome in our home?”

 

“As long as he doesn’t denigrate my kin.” He wondered about her wording. Could she seriously be considering a future in which there was a shared dwelling?

 

“Harry won’t, sir. Unless it’s through ignorance. But I’ll teach him otherwise.”

 

“All right.”

 

“The law is based on the idea that Muggleborns need to be brought into the fold, so to speak.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Is it merely Born or is also muggle raised?”

 

Flitwick said, dismayed, “Oh dear. You think Harry could be at risk?”

 

“No. I believe Headmaster Dumbledore would never, ever allow that. What I am wondering is that if the law can be applied to Harry, can we use the law to circumvent Harry’s placement at the Dursely’s and the Headmaster’s orders?”

Dell inhaled sharply. Monica leaned forward, intent. Filius looked between the Grangers and shook his head. “Terribly clever, Puck! Yes! If we could find someone as mad as I am, it would certainly be possible.”

 

“Do you know of a Goblin that might be willing?” She pressed on.

 

“No. And unfortunately, I do not think Harry would thrive in a clan. He’s too self reliant, and his magic is very much of Air.”

 

“What does of air mean?” Asked Dell.

 

“Wand magic, Daddy.”

 

“You do wand magic as well, though.”

 

“Puck has a rather elegant grasp on theory and form, rather than actual wand magic. She reaches out to the magic inherent within an object” Filius said. “Mr. Potter operates on instinct, and reaches within himself to command the magic. Puck’s approach is closer to that of the fey; Mr. Potter is the epitome of a human wizard. I would not have agreed to approach you at all if Puck was focused on wand magic.” He frowned and said slowly, “Tell me, is Harry indeed a Parseltongue?”

 

“Yes.” Hermione looked worried. “I know it’s the mark of a dark wizard—“

 

“Circe’s tits! Who told you such a thing?”

 

“Everyone?”

 

“It’s a magical inheritance, nothing more.”

 

“Headmaster told Harry that You-Know-Who passed it on to him via the scar.”

 

“Then the headmaster is either a fool or a liar. Most Magic in wizards comes from humans and beings having offspring together. The Potters were known for international trade and diplomacy. Likely one of them married a Naga or naga descendant. There are other bloodlines it occurs in, but Naga halflings are very common in India.” Albus could be odd sometimes but surely he knew something about Naga.

 

“Oh,” said Hermione, “Then why bring it up?”

 

“Because a good friend of mine is a Medusa, and she may be know of someone willing.” Rolanda Hooch had said she’d supply the gasoline, after all. Setting up Harry with a Medusa or Naga would add a few fireworks into the mix.

 

“Will you do your best to aid me in helping Harry escape the Dursleys if I am your spouse?”

 

“The word is mate, Puck, and I would help with that regardless.”

 

“My second concern is my family. Would my parents be welcome in our home?”

 

“Yes,” said Flitwick immediately. “I don’t know the rest of your Blood, so I cannot say, but I adore your parents and would welcome them now.”

 

“Okay,” The girl relaxed. “Now, my other concern is, um, rather more personal.” She blushed.

 

“You may ask me anything you wish, Puck.”

 

“I visited Viktor Krum before we went to Paris,” she said matter of factly.

 

“And how did you enjoy that?” Filius was curious; her date with Krum had been a seven days’ sensation at Hogwarts, even among the staff.

 

She pulled a face, “He was very nice. Very solicitous. So very dull.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. Wanted to read me subpar poetry, and escort me around his parents’ garden. I’m fifteen, Filius, and a woman of flesh and bone. Not a heroine in some silly period romance, or a Miss Marple.”

 

Mony gurgled with laughter. Dell sighed. “Definitely your mother’s child.”

 

Filius chuckled briefly himself. “I will resist the urge to pen odes to your hair then.”

 

“Much appreciated, but not what I meant.” She turned to stare challengingly at her parents. “You said you’d stay well out of it. And I asked you specifically to do so for this portion of the conversation.” Her parents nodded.

 

“Filius, there are somethings that one cannot learn in books,” Hermione said carefully. “I have a great deal of theoretical knowledge, you might say, but no practical. I am completely unwilling to live in a sexless, loveless marriage. I want your input on what your expectations might be in regards to intimacy.”

 

Filius took a deep breath, and then very slowly exhaled, thinking. He pushed himself away from the table and turned in his chair to face her. He’d assumed that she’d treat the marriage as a business arrangement at best. “Well,” he said, “First, you need to understand Goblin Craft is blood and earth based. Power in sex and in childbirth. Second of all, you need to understand that human contraceptives are not at all reliable if you bed a magical being. Potions of that sort assume both partners are human, with human physiology. If we engage in carnal activity, our partnership will be considered solid in the eyes of my clan, and knowing my family, you’ll have a much harder time extricating yourself, if that’s your end game. If you birth me a child, you’ll be considered a Gobliness, full stop. To Wizards, you’ll be something even lower than a Muggle Born, not to mention significantly more frightening. To me, well, you realize, I will fight to keep our family unit together, to say the very least. I’d not duel a wizard for the honor to write you poetry, but I would slit Ronald Weasley’s throat without a second thought if he attempted to interfere between myself and the lifegiver of my youngling.”

 

Hermione nodded solemnly. She scooted her chair closer to him and placed her hands on his knees. She slowly slid her palms upwards, thumbs on the inner thighs. He put his hands out to intercept hers, and she twined her fingers with his, in his lap. “I want you to fight for us, Filius Flitwick. I would take no oath, or make no promise without the intention of keeping my word.”

 

He said solemnly, “I do not either. Hermione Granger, I wish to Bond with you. I wish to Claim you as my mate, give you unto my parents as a daughter, aid you in learning so that you may be my partner in every way, and I wish for my seed to take root in your belly so that our family tree will provide shelter and protection for our future kin. What say you?”

 

“Yes. I say yes!”

“So Mote it Be,” said a voice from the kitchen door.


	3. Bonjour! Good day! How is your family?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more to friendship than silly wand waving, and there's more to parenting than writing checks. Just ask the Grangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't see much of the Grangers in books, and I tend to lean towards the fandom theory that Hermione drifted away from them. But I don't think it's necessarily true that all Muggles are like Petunia Dursley. Parents reach out to teachers, parents of their kid's friends, legal entities like Banks on behalf of their children. Centuries ago, someone might think it's okay to let their kid leave home at eleven. Britain in the 1990s? Just...No.

“So Mote it Be,” said a voice from the kitchen door.

 

The Grangers and Flitwick turned to see a debonair silver haired man at the door.

“Jean Paul!” said Dell. “Bonjour. I’m terribly sorry, I must have forgotten you were stopping by this afternoon. We’re in the middle of something, just now. Would you mind waiting outside?”

Jean Paul Delacour said “Bonjour, Madam, M’sieurs. Mademoiselle. I realize what I have interrupted. If you wish me to go, I will certainly take my leave.”

“Dell,” said Filius, “Monsieur Delacour is standing witness. It’s an honor, Monsieur.”

“Oh! Sorry, Jean Paul.”

“Quite all right,” the man said cheerfully, in a faint French accent. Then he raised his eyebrows expectantly and said, “This, my friends, is where you echo my words to acknowledge that you will soon be gaining a son. Get on with it, because I am anxious to hear the story behind this. Not every day a member of the Horde proposes to one of my daughter’s friends.”

Dell said ruefully, “I am sure you must be curious as we mentioned nothing this past week about this. Quite sudden, man. So Mote it be.”

“So Mote it be,” said Monica.

A flash of light and a musical trill emanated from Filius’ knapsack, and suddenly it looked less full.

“What was that?” Asked Hermione.

“The Writ of Apprenticeship,” Filius sighed. “Oh, dear. I brought it along because I was expecting that you’d want to read it, and now it will show up in front of my father, awaiting his blessing, and with him having no idea what it’s all about.”

Jean Paul said, “I hope he is accustomed to surprises.”

“Oh, yes, he thrives on the unexpected. That doesn’t mean my parents will let this pass without a great deal of ribbing.”

“Will they like me?” asked Hermione. She worriedly twisted a lock of her hair.

“Yes, that was never in any doubt. The question is more will you like them. Picture your parents as artists with a few more centuries’ of being absolutely shameless.”

Hermione snorted, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, mortified. The adults broke into laughter.

“I’m not sure if we should be offended or flattered, Wendy.” 

Filius bowed to Monica and said “Oh, I hold my parents in high esteem, Madam.” He then bowed to Hermione and added merrily, “A sound worthy of any Gobliness, my dear Puck.”

“So,” said Jean Paul, “I came because Fleur was rather sulky that her friend had to leave, and Annalise wondered if you might be willing to meet us in London for supper tonight. Master Flitwick, you are naturally invited, if you can face the grim fate of being grilled by three French lovelies who are both very protective of Hermione and completely wedding mad.”

Filius paled but rallied. “Any friends of the Puckles are friends of mine, Monsieur. Regrettably, though, I think that I had best do some damage control with my mother. She will not enjoy being the last to know.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Monica looked at her husband, attempting to convey that she was about to alter their current arrangements. He nodded to her and she continued, “Our daughter just became engaged. Regardless of the circumstance, this is, in a very real sense, the last summer of her youth. I’d like to spend it getting to know her fiancé, and I’d like her to spend it like a proper girl—giggling with her friends and mother over wedding plans.”

Dell said musingly, “We only came back from vacation so that we could get ahead on this law. That’s been taken care of, thanks to Filius. Fil, how long before we are able to access Mr. Potter? How long until Snape or the ministry will take action on the Law?”

Filius replied, “Before addressing the Harry situation, we need plans in place to protect him, and it wouldn’t do to move him before that. I’d say his birthday, perhaps even later. As for Hermione, she doesn’t technically get her wand rights until after the OWLs, or until the Ministry receives notice of our agreement. Minerva told me that the plan is to start working on her in September, when she is away from you; it is one of her chief grievances against Albus right now, and no doubt part of the reason Minerva was so willing to encourage me in this endeavor. She thinks Albus’ efforts to cut you out are revolting.”

“I’m in agreement with Professor McGonagall,” said Dell, “but does give us precious time. Jean Paul, I wouldn’t normally impose—you did offer your home to us…”

“Oui!” Jean Paul smiled, “Master Flitwick, is there anyway we could tempt you to be our houseguest at our summer villa in Venizia?” 

“Precisely what I had in mind, Jean Paul,” said Monica.

“Oh! I would love that!” Said Hermione. She turned to Flitwick and said pleadingly, “Sir, I know you must have lesson plans to write and other duties—“

“Please remember, my name is Filius, Puck. And no, I’ve nothing I can’t put off.” Minerva could fend without him for one summer. Albus had already removed him from Muggle Born duty, after a particularly loud discussion about whether they should tell the youngest Muggle Borns to go abroad for their schooling. Albus had refused to do so because it would negatively impact the coffers. Who cared about the coffers when children’s lives were at stake? And Albus was the one claiming that the danger was real!

Besides—the young lady before him would soon be his mate, and he knew that his parents would not appreciate it if he neglected to get to know her better. “I do need to go to Gringotts before I depart with you.”

“We need to repack,” said Dell cheerfully. “How ‘bout we meet up here again at, oh, half past six? Will that be too early for you?”

“No,” said Jean Paul, “Master Flitwick, I have business at the Ministry; may I accompany you to Diagon Alley?”

“Would be delighted, Monsieur.” The two men left the house and walked to the nearest apparition point. “Would I be wrong in assuming you to have an ulterior motive?” asked Flitwick.

“You would not be, Master Flitwick. Those people are my friends, and as such, I feel a certain duty towards them. There are possibly nuances that they would not pick up on—I wondered if I could have perhaps an hour of your time.”

“I understand, dear chap. Would a meeting room at Gringotts suffice? I am rather concerned that everywhere else in London has unfriendly ears at the moment.”

Jean Paul looked at the shorter man. “You’ve nerves of steel, monsieur. I confess that I was rather taken in by your airy disposition last year, but I can see the dueling master now looking at me. And he is a great deal more paranoid than I suspect the Grangers realize.”

“Let us consider this topic in abeyance until we are in more secure surroundings.” 

“Agreed.” The two man popped away from the serene upper class neighborhood.

They reappeared at Gringott’s apparation point, and Flitwick said, “This way, please.” He led the Frenchman to the Special Services Desk and held a rapid discussion with the representative in Gobbleydegook. The banker handed Flitwick a large ward key, and started scribbling on forms. Flitwick said “He’s agreed to arrange my parents’ transportation; they’ll be arriving in one hour’s time.” 

“Excellent.” They were escorted to the meeting rooms for distinguished guests, offered tea, and then left alone to their own concerns.

“So.” Jean Paul said.

“So.” Flitwick curled his mouth into what might pass for a polite smile, among people who knew absolutely nothing about Goblins.

Jean Paul grinned sardonically back at him. “Shan’t waste your time then. First, how will this affect your employment?”

Flitwick looked startled. “Pardon?”

“Come off it, Master Flitwick. Your supervisor is a man with a thoroughly unwholesome plan for your mate that you just blew to Kingdom Come. Your coworker apparently had his sights on your mate as well. You live in a country that is increasingly xenophobic, and one where the rising dark has special interest in harming your intended and her closest friend. The Grangers are just so relieved that you’ve taken a load off their shoulders that it hasn’t yet occurred to them that the burden simply transferred to yours. Ringing bells yet?”

“Ah. You do have a reputation for being astute, Monsieur. In short: there will be no real affect.”

“You do not think they will attempt to persecute you for this?”

“Oh, they will. But the only leverage they may be able to pull is a threat to the wellbeing of my wife, and none of them are desperate enough to provoke the Horde. Next summer, if Voldemort has gained strength, we may have issues. But this summer—they’re using the Prophet to run a smear campaign against a teenager, Monsieur. Albus is preoccupied and not overly focused on Miss Granger, as he doesn’t yet understand the lengths that she and his own staff will go to on the behalf of Mr. Potter.”

“Your career?”

“I work at Hogwarts because I lost a duel with a Governor; the Terms are such that I can only leave the job if I have been fired or if the Horde recalls me. The latter is unlikely; the Senior Managers find my situation most amusing. The former is nearly impossible. I’ve tried. Albus has tried as well, as he doesn’t particularly like the fact that I am not blindly loyal to him, and he distrusts my heritage.”

“Albus puts a great deal of effort into appearing all welcoming and benevolent,” Jean Paul murmured.

“Ah. Notice that, did you?”

“My French compatriots were really quite concerned Madam Maxime would either quit or cause an international incident. The Headmaster just would not let the matter of Mr. Hagrid rest.”

“He tends to be completely out of touch with his staff’s personal lives, and we quite like it that way, Monsieur. I’m not entirely sure what Hagrid had in mind, but the man is sharp as a tack regardless of his odd demeanor, and your Headmistress may rest assured she was not in danger of being courted.”

Jean Paul mulled that tidbit over. “You think Hagrid may have been trying to send a message?”

“I think Rubeus may have been yanking the worthy lady’s chain, Monsieur. He has a terrible sense of humor sometimes. He may have also been distracting Albus from something—like his damned experimental breeding projects. Albus tends to grossly underestimate Hagrid. Only a poor half giant that never earned his wand rights, y’know,” The Charms Master snorted derisively.

“Not quite the truth, I take it.”

“Hagrid has little use for a wand, Monsieur, and even less use for Ministry laws. He was born right over the ward line of the Forbidden forest, and walks those paths every day.”

Jean Paul nodded. “Any of your other coworkers not quite what they seem?”

“This goes no further than this room?”

“Oui. I am only asking because I want to know exactly what I am getting myself into.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll not let you face the coming darkness alone, man. Your mate will be a girl that my daughter is beginning to view as a sister.”

“I had wondered about that. They didn’t seem close during the Tournament.”

“When the Krums asked Hermione to visit, the Grangers did what every respectable magical family does—asked for references. Master Krum is the Bulgarian ambassador to France, and so he offered my name to Dell. We hit off immediately; they speak fluent French and as it turns out, even know several of the same landowners we know in the Loire. Fleur was thrilled to find a companion who both enjoyed reading and spending time with our family. Fleur struggled socially in school, you understand, due to my…apparent heritage.”

“Difficult to be not quite human, sometimes.”

“Yes. Which leads me to my next query—there is no way that is your true appearance.”

Flitwick deactivated the glamour without even blinking. Jean Paul noted the clever, exquisite features, long fingers, and black ringlets before nodding. The homely, cheerful facade melted back into place. 

“I discovered the power of being underestimated when I was quite young,” remarked Flitwick. “Even Albus—in theory, the man knows what year I matriculated from Hogwarts, but there is no one left, other than Pomona Sprout, who could remind him that I am of the Fey, first and foremost. There are any number of people who know the truth, but they are disinclined to help Albus.”

“And Madam Sprout?”

“A lady Dwarf invested in never reminding Albus that she herself has a long life line.”

“I see.”

“To stay employed at Hogwarts for any length of time means that one must have a certain affinity with the land. Generally, that means Forest Dwellers of one kind or another. I do not plan to stay after Hermione graduates; it would be too hard on her, either because she could not get used to the Forest right there, or because she would want to be deeper within the Forest’s embrace. Albus Dumbledore, Trelawney, and Burbage spends as little time as possible out on the grounds. Of those three, only Burbage is in on the plan. You may assume everyone else on staff to be at least not opposed to my plan.”

“Severus Snape?” 

“Not a happy man, Monsieur. But he does not fear the forest; I suspect that if he allowed himself to go too far in, we’d never see him again. Snape will be relieved, I think, to be let off the hook, and I foresee no issues there.”

“Where do you see potential issues?”

“Albus, the Weasley Family for certain. Minerva once she realizes I actually intend to treat her favorite student as my mate.”

“I had gotten the impression she was part of this?”

“She is, yes. But she doesn’t think like me or a few of the others. I think she pictures whoever marries Miss Granger as a self sacrificing figure who puts their own life on hold.”

“She doesn’t see that such an approach also puts Miss Granger’s life on hold?”

“No. She sees Miss Granger as what I saw until today; a frizzy haired, impetuous child.”

“Ah, now we come to the part that I’m sure will occur to everyone concerned. How are you handling a fifteen year old as your betrothed?”

“I went into this thinking that Miss Granger would treat this as a business arrangement initially, and that I would have plenty of time to get used to the idea. But Puck is no child, and willing to take on the world at her terms. Received a rather rude shock when I saw her in those red shorts, you know. Only vaguely aware that she had knees and now, I’m all too aware of her thighs and arse as well.” Flitwick looked troubled. “It is both a boon and a curse.”

Jean Paul laughed heartily, “I believe, Monsieur, that is precisely what my eldest daughter had in mind. She’ll be delighted to know that she succeeded.” He rose. “I will bid you adieu, and leave you to the tender embrace of your parents.”

Flitwick gestured rudely at him and he walked away in good spirits.


	4. Into the woods...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, elsewhere, the other set of parents in this love story are about to be blindsided.

Earlier that day…

Filomena Flitwick was quite annoyed with her mate, Luminary Flitwick. The Goblin had promised he would clear his train set off the enormous, salvaged-plank kitchen table that morning. Instead, he appeared to be arranging her elaborate tree candles that she’d been preparing for shipment to the Guild of Woodsman in a maze for the bloody trains to zigzag through.

“Lum,” she growled, “If you even so much as scratch one of those trees, I’ll smash your signal pole with a hammer. And I don’t mean the one in the train set! The Woodsman’s annual boar roast is next week, and I’ve no time to replace those.”

“But Mena, my fire crab! Your trees are so marvelous! So realistic!” The tiny Goblin bounced on the balls of his feet, gesturing excitedly at the scene in front of him. “I just had to arrange them to their best advantage so that I could take a picture for our Fil. I thought perhaps he might even know of runes that would make your trees whip about, you know, like that Whomping Willow.”

Filomena had to admit the idea had a certain appeal. There were, after all, only so many ways one could wow a bunch of woodsmen with wax trees. Perhaps next year, she could install giant Whomping Willow shaped candles along the wall, complete with whomping, of course; if anyone would enjoy a fire hazard such as that, it would be a bunch of testosterone filled, axe wielding maniacs. But she knew better than to give her husband a chance to weasel out of trouble, especially when it concerned the train set. Shameless goblins, and their thrice damned toys!

“Then take your picture,” the tiny Greek woman crossed her arms, “and pack up your trains; I will send it off to Filius.” Perhaps with a guilt laden letter about how they’d not seen their only son for months. She knew the Halfling was busy, and that he and his friends were shaken by that child’s death, but still! 

The Goblin and witch lived in a homey cottage in Germany’s Black Forest. Not the much reduced Black Forest known to most Muggles—but the vast forest that one could only enter through certain portals scattered about Germany. Magical folks, especially Fey like the Goblins, had begun to set apart an enormous Magical Preserve even before the first of the Witch Burnings. The result was a vast OtherRealm that intersected in several places with the modern world. In Europe, and northern Africa (Goblins were quite fond of Egypt tomb looting) the OtherRealm mostly consisted of forest and waterways and enormous caverns filled with all manner of fey. Mortals could enter (and indeed, stay, as Philomena, a witch from Greece, could attest to) but many feared to tread into the OtherRealm, for if you were not familiar with the Paths, you might leave Hogwarts at noon, and end up in the ancient city of Petra by one, as Bill Weasley had done one memorable Hogsmeade Saturday. The Forbidden Forest was actually a far northern finger of the OtherRealm; Centaurs and acromantula were more of a deterrent than anything else, and were in fact there on Hagrid’s request, for he had tired of hunting for students and delivering apologies on the behalf of the Headmaster to the various Forest denizens who did not appreciate errant human children tripping through their gardens or scaring their cattle. Additionally, if a child got lost for long enough, they could exit to find their own siblings bent with age. The OtherRealm had so much magic that space and time did not exist in the same way that it did in the mortal world.

Anyway. I digress. The point is that Filomena could visit her son whenever she liked, with little trouble, but any Greek woman knows the power of guilt. Let Filius come to them; he volunteered a great deal more information that way. 

As Filomena was feeling very smug about her top notch parenting, a scroll popped into place over the table. It glowed and then unrolled, resulting in the bottom brass bar weight gouging a hole in her largest fir tree. She screamed and rushed forward to examine the damage. The centerpiece for the head table, ruined! She looked up to rip into her mate—this was all his fault!—only to see him staring, looking flummoxed, by whatever he was reading.

“What is it?” She demanded. Writ scrolls were important Goblin business. The contents of such should not surprise a recipient; she’d assumed that it was some sort of ongoing Flitwick drama (Flitwicks enjoyed delivering their family arguments in written form, as they felt stationary and ink color added a certain something). Luminary’s stunned expression was not a good omen. 

“Well, dear,” squeaked her husband of three centuries. “Would you like the good news or the bad news first?”

Filomena might have been a witch, but she was a member of the Horde at heart, and they much preferred celebration over mourning. “Good,” she said crisply.

“This is a Writ of Apprenticeship. Our boy has finally found himself a female who will have him.”

Her son had made a monumental decision like this without even telling them, his parents! Filomena was beginning to think she needed to take a closer interest in her baby’s affairs. Perhaps they could move their dwelling to Green Oaks. No, Hogsmeade! No, Hagrid’s cottage!

“If that’s the good news,” she said suspiciously, “what’s the bad news, Lum.”

“She’s a fifteen year old Muggleborn at Hogwarts.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Hermione Granger, born 1980, currently enrolled at Hogwarts. I don’t know any Wizarding families named Granger, do you?"

“No.”

Both were silent for quite some time, staring into space, wax trees long forgotten. Their son could not be manipulated, or blackmailed, or ordered. He’d never been much interested in the inexperienced village girls; he was far more likely to bed a Mistress of Craft, goblin or no. Whoever this girl was, she was no ordinary witch, and no doubt Filius had good reasons for offering the Writ.

Someone banged on the door, and Filomena reluctantly went to answer it, her mate trailing behind after her. It was Bartok, her eldest daughter’s husband. 

“Yes, Tok?” Her husband asked. “You know you can just open the door, lad.”

“Official Gringotts Messenger Service, Sir.” The young halfling looked uncomfortable. He liked his mate’s parents, but he didn’t particularly enjoy the forest. Too many living green things. Give him Undercroft, the great Cavern City beneath Gringotts, any day of the week. “Filius is awaiting you in the Gringotts’ meeting rooms—he says that the correspondence you received earlier was quite sudden, and unexpected, even to him. He’d like to explain in a secure setting. Your transportation has been paid for by him—will you follow me?”

“Lead on, Master Tok,” said Filomena.

The three set off for a nearby mine shaft, where a Gringotts Cart was posed to take them down into the belly of the OtherRealm. With a swoosh, and a rumbling of wheels, they were on their way!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the question is; should I write out the confrontation, or leave something to the imagination, and return, with Filius, to the Grangers?


	5. And we flee into the night!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer adventure starts.

Filius staggered out of the meeting room, pale and shaking, only to see his brother in law Bartok and and five other Goblins grinning with malicious enjoyment. “Go eat shit,” he muttered. They exploded in giggles and hoots, and the others dashed off leaving only Bartok standing before him.

 

“So,” said his brother in law, “found a mate, did you?”

 

“Yes, Tok.”

 

“A human mate?”

 

“Tok.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You were listening at the door the entire time, you cavern maggot, and I know you heard every damn word.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, please, don’t add to my misery. Just go tell my sister she’ll like my mate, and remind her that I faked a grievous, festering dueling wound the entire time you courted her. You owe me!”

 

“Right-o.” His smile gentled into something nearly human. “Felicitations, my brother, may you find with your lady the true partnership I’ve found with your sister.”

 

“Shade and sweet water, Tok.”

Filius checked his watch and headed to the Diagon Alley apparition point. He thought he’d likely catch up with Jean Paul there, and sure enough, the Frenchman waved at him when he caught sight of him. Filius slipped into the line next to him, ignoring the grumbles of the old lady to his back.

 

“Bonjour, Master Flitwick.”

 

“Bonjour, Monsieur. If you insist on being my friend, you’ll need to call me Fil.”

 

The Veela man smiled. “Then I must insist on Jean Paul.” He extended his hand and they shook briskly. Soon, they were at the front of the line, and when the attendant nodded, they popped away to the apparition point near the Grangers’ neighborhood.

 

Filius tucked his hands in his pockets and strolled next to the man, matching his long stride with some effort. Jean Paul looked at him, curious. “So? How did your parents take the news?”

 

Filius sighed, “I feel like I’ve had a close encounter of the eldritch kind, man.”

 

“That well, hm?” Jean Paul knocked on the Grangers’ door.

 

Hermione flung the door open. “They’re back, Mum!” Her parents came rushing down the stairs, toting suitcases.

 

“We need to go,” Dell said urgently. “Now!”

 

Filius and Jean Paul traded a worried look but stepped into the house, hurriedly. Hermione slammed the door shut, bolted it, and flipped the lights off. Jean Paul held a large steering wheel out, said “Portus” and the five took hold, spinning away.

 

When they landed, Hermione dropped her case and heaved. Fleur thrust a chamber pot towards her, and the younger sister lurked, waiting with a glass of water and hand towel.

 

Filius said, “Why, I must say, that’s French hospitality for you!”

 

Mrs. Delacour laughed, coming forward to shake his hand. “Bonjour, Master Flitwick! The young Mademoiselle reacts poorly to Portkeys, and my daughters simply wish to prevent her from vomiting on her own clothing again.”

 

“Oh, dear. There are potions for that, Miss Granger!”

 

The girl said, “What happened to Puck, sir?”

 

“I beg your pardon, Puck, I was not sure if your young friends had been told yet.”

 

“Not yet, but I consider them family, Filius. Anyway, I know about the potion, but just before you arrived, we received a letter from Mrs. Weasley telling us that they’d be along to pick me up so I could stay with them for the rest of the summer.”

 

“I do not remember you mentioning any such invite,” said Jean Paul, concerned.

 

“Because there wasn’t one,” fumed Monica. “She simply told us!”

 

“Zat ‘orrible woman,” exclaimed Fleur.

 

“How rude,” agreed her mother. “Let us have some lemonade on the terrace and you may all tell us the newest developments.”

 

As he walked through the house, Filius admired the fine mosaic floors and high ceilings. “A true Venetian Villa,” he said. “Wonderful, Jean Paul.”

 

“It is a family treasure,” the Frenchman agreed. “We would retire here if it were not for the cruise ship crowds.”

 

“A pity,” said Monica, “I fear Venice is going to be loved to death.”

 

Fleur opened the terrace doors. The rear of the Villa faced the Grand Canal, and they had a fantastic view of gondoliers, private boats, and the vaporettos flitting from dock to dock.

 

“Ah,” sighed Filius. Dell echoed his delight. “Wonderful.”

 

“I am so happy it pleases you, my friends.” Jean Paul waved at them to be seated around the patio table, and Mrs. Delacour poured lemonade for everyone.

 

Filius lifted his glass and smiled at his hosts. “Thank you for your hospitality, Madam, Jean Paul, Mademoiselles.”

 

“Please, Master Flitwick, I am Annalise and these are my daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle.”

 

“Then you all must call me Filius or Flitwick.”

 

“Filius,” said Fleur boldly, “May I ask what brought you here with the Grangers so abruptly?”

 

“You have heard of the so-called Marriage Law?”

 

“Oui.”

 

“I have made an offer of Apprenticeship to Miss Granger, and she has accepted.”

 

“Hermione,” said Fleur, “Did you say yes because you like him or because you have so little self esteem that you think the best you can do is an aged halfling instructor?”

 

“Fleur!” Her mother said sharply.

 

“I like him, Fleur,” said Hermione. “I already told him I would not live a sexless, loveless life. Very little dampens his spirits, and I do not think age slows him down much.”

 

“Ah!” The older teen girl grinned broadly. “I am so happy! Please, Filius, love my sister in the manner she deserves.”

 

“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” Filius smiled merrily at her. “It is lovely to see you again!” He sipped his lemonade, and put his cup down “Since this is apparently a day of revelation, and I seem to be among friends, I would like to show you something.” He tapped his wand against the rune stone he wore around his neck and his glamour fell.

 

Jean Paul looked amused. “Like all Goblins, you have a sense of dramatic timing.”

 

“Oui, Jean Paul.” He looked around at the others, who were struck dumb.

 

“Your true appearance?” Asked Dell after a minute of gaping.

 

“Indeed.” He knew the difference was quite startling. In the place of a jolly elderly professor, sat a diminutive young man who didn’t appear much older than Fleur. His elegant, dark features were a little too sharp to be anything other than fey; his short black ringlets were reminiscent of Botticelli’s cupids. (He knew this because he’d apprenticed to a dueling master in Florence, and his colleagues had found it particularly humorous to drag him around to museums and compare his looks to that of the various artworks. Bastards.)

 

He turned to Hermione, whose mouth was hanging open. “Well, my dear?”

 

“Why don’t you look like that at Hogwarts?” She stammered. “I’m sorry,” she added, “I don’t mean to stare.”

 

“The reasons are complex, but a lot of it is that my youthful appearance attracts unwanted challenges. Much of the rest—well, I believe Fleur could explain it better.”

 

Hermione turned to look at her friend. Fleur cleared her throat and nodded. “Now I know why you were so polite, Master Flitwick. You did not seem to be flirting with me, so I was unsettled. Hermione, people are jealous and hurtful. Partly of my good looks, it is true, but mostly, especially in Britain, they never ever let me forget I am less than human.”

 

“You, my dear,” said Filius, “are fellow Fey, and therefore more than human, and don’t you forget that!”

 

“Is this true?” Asked Hermione. “But you are one of the favorite teachers, Filius!”

 

He nodded in agreement. “Yes.But I spent years cultivating that persona. The glamour makes all the difference, my dear. My personality does not change, but what mortals find endearing about the good Professor, they often find off putting about the Goblin Master Filius Flitwick.”

 

“They underestimate you, don’t they,” said Monica thoughtfully.

 

He grinned wickedly, “Oh naturally.”

 

His companions laughed and relaxed. “As you say,” said Dell, “you’re among friends, old bean.”

 

“Thank you. So back to the topic at hand—what did the invitation say?”

 

Hermione looked disgusted. “The Weasleys are apparently moving somewhere more secure, and they wanted me to move with them. Somewhere safe.” Her voice rose in outrage, “But Harry is apparently safe in in the Muggle world with the Dursleys,” she spat the name, “and they didn’t include my parents in the invitation.”

 

“Classless and bigoted,” sniffed Fleur.

 

“Very unfortunately, that is the best way to describe Molly Weasley,” agreed Filius.

 

“You seem to like her children, though,” said Hermione, puzzled.

 

“Oh, I do, Hermione. Well, I like the two oldest and it is near impossible to dislike the twins. Arthur is an entirely different case as well. But at any rate, I am a teacher, and so I find it necessary to be pleasant to disagreeable people all of the time.”

 

“Quite like politics,” murmured Jean Paul.

 

“Yes, but with a great deal more of Albus’ idiocy mixed in, so entirely more petty and frustrating.”

 

The other man nodded, “I’ll give you that one.”

 

“Anyway,” said Dell, “I scribbled out a quick response, saying that we already had plans, but I didn’t want to see if they showed up. We were going to head for the nearest train station if you had not appeared when you did, and just hope you were not seen.”

 

“We need a way to communicate,” said Monica unhappily. “Perhaps a bird, although I do find those so depressing.”

 

“Communication mirrors,” said Annalise. “We will order some tomorrow, but I think we should stay together as much as possible. I am guessing, Hermione, that you plan to stay at Hogwarts with Filius. Perhaps there is some way we can share expenses in Hogsmeade or even Green Oaks; I do not wish to offend you by assuming you will allow us to pay your way.”

 

“Don’t worry, Annalise,” Monica said. “My husband and I both inherited considerable fortunes, and we do not work because we must.”

 

Dell said, “Monica, dear?”

 

“I don’t ever touch it, love, but our daughter is more precious than my pride.”

 

“Yes,” he agreed simply. Then he turned to Filius. “So! Old chap! Buddy! Pal! How did your parents react to your announcement?”

 

Filius heaved a sigh. Jean Paul laughed. “He went to Gringotts to meet with them,” he explained. “Looked a bit wild around the eyes when he caught up with me.”

 

“Are they mad?” Asked Hermione.

 

“No, my dear. Well, not about our bonding. Apparently, the scroll arrived while my father was arranging my mother’s candles in a still life with his train set, and the scroll took a good chunk out of one of the trees. Ma is fit to be tied. I probably saved Da’s life, or at least his trains, and in turn, he’s managed to prevent her from coming here to meet you for at least a little bit.”

 

“Your papa has a train set?” Gabrielle’s eyes lit up.

 

“What trees are you talking about?” Hermione looked confused.

 

“Oh—my parents are candle artisans. The Candles were fir trees, a large order from the Woodsmen’s Guild.”

 

“Oh! Those Flitwicks!” Exclaimed Annalise, astonished. “Filomena, correct? And I’m sorry—I should know your father’s name, but Loom is the only thing coming to my mind.”

 

“Luminary Flitwick, Madam.”

 

“Annie, Fil.” She turned to the others. “His parents craft wondrous, impressive magical candles; the trees no doubt really did look like trees. They cost the earth. Your poor mother, Fil!”

 

“Yes. She is distraught, and spent half of the meeting reaming us out and the other half weeping with joy that her son finally found a life partner.” That had been the disturbing part. He was relatively sure his mother was plotting his life course rather than her revenge.

 

“Did you tell them why?” Asked Hermione.

 

“Yes, but all they care about is that I hold you in genuine regard, and that you really intend to become a Gobliness of the Clan Flitwick.”

 

“Oh, I do!”

 

“Fantastique!” Gabrielle bounced in her chair. “May I be an attendant?”

 

“Gabrielle!” Cried Fleur.

 

“Well! May I?”

 

“If you think you can handle my sisters, Mademoiselle.”

 

“If they can handle her, you mean,” muttered Fleur.

 

“I’ve never met a Gobliness,” said Gabrielle. “Do they like to shop?”

 

“Oh, yes,” sighed Filius.

 

The other two men snickered. “Well, glad to know you’ve already been broken in,” said Dell, “This lot adores shopping and now they have an entirely new country to drag Puck around.”

 

“Oh no,” said Hermione faintly.

 

“Oh _yes_!” Said Fleur. “Milan! Florence! Rome!”

 

“I don’t mind so much,” said Filius. “I left rather suddenly, and I only possess the clothes on my back. Besides, I suspect that Puck would like her mate to pass in in both Muggle and Magical Venezia.”

 

“We’re terribly sorry to drag you away like this, Filius,” said Monica. “Please, allow us to front some of your wardrobe.”

 

“Nonsense, Madam, it’s high time I bought new clothing anyway.”

 

“No, I insist.”

 

“As do I,” said Annie. “Think of it as our excuse to use you as a dress up doll, which I assure you, we will do regardless.”

 

“Very well! Would you mind terribly if I tuned in early then? I will need my energy for the morning.”

 

“Naturally,” Said Jean Paul. “Allow me to show you to your room, Filius.”

“Bonne nuit, my friends.”

* * *

 

Much later in the evening, only Jean Paul and Dell sat on the Terrace. Dell appeared lost in thought.

 

“How are you, Dell?” Jean Paul poured the other man a snifter of brandy. “An eventful day,” he observed neutrally.

 

“Yes.” The other man finally answered. He sipped the brandy and nodded his appreciation. “Is it wrong of me to be happy that it’s her professor? She is just fifteen, Jean Paul.”

 

Jean Paul said, “So, you are happy. No, I think it would be a bad sign if you were unhappy.”

 

“He challenges her,” said the Muggle. “Is proud of her. Treats her like an equal, like she’s worth something, which unfortunately puts him leagues ahead of the Weasley boy and his mum and many of her other teachers.” He took another sip of brandy. “Makes her laugh, makes her back down and see reason. No easy task, those last two.”

 

“And perhaps the most important of the ones you’ve listed.”

 

“Oh, yes. Our Puckle takes herself far too seriously and rushes in where angels fear to tread. What do you think of Flitwick? Not just the man you saw tonight, but also what you know of his reputation and what you saw of him last year.”

 

Jean Paul sat, pensive, looking out at the headlights of boats bobbing across the black water. He finally said, “All three very different facets of the same man, you understand.”

 

“That would be why I phrased the question in that fashion.”

 

“Oui. Well, the man we saw today—he was, I believe, more honest than he would be comfortable in admitting. And it is because he respects you and the Puckles, as he calls your wife and child. It is also, however, because he and his co-conspirators, whoever they may be, are angry on the behalf of their charges. Goblins, despite their reputation, are difficult to rouse into anger. The Goblin Rebellions are taught extensively at Hogwarts not because the ghost professor is obsessed, but because every single rebellion marked a great wave of societal change. It is almost certain, given the politics in Britain right now, that another is approaching fast.”

 

“As if we need any other complications.”

 

“I don’t mean to alarm you. Flitwick is likely not even looking as that as part of the deal. But I’m using that as an example to illustrate the fact that the man is sincere and resolute. That was no whim, and I would not be surprised to find that he is the one who elected himself. You can’t force a Goblin to claim someone they dislike as family; he claimed you Grangers as family this afternoon.”

 

“He’s a good friend,” admitted Dell. “Teachers, you know. Some you like, some you dislike. Few you connect with enough to invite to lunch at your house or a lark at the National History Museum. Good company, is Filius, and as I said, he treats Puck like we do—like an equal.”

 

“And in that sense, you know more of him that I do. I knew his reputation before the tournament. Formidable dueling master, and very few of his competitors speak badly of him. He told me that he lost a bet and was tricked into teaching at Hogwarts—I don’t doubt him, because any number of people wonder how he ended up there. Annie could tell you more of his publications than I can, but I know that she finds them refreshingly innovative, and you heard her go on about his parents.”

 

“Mony is the businesswoman, you know—she worried that his career will be impacted.”

 

“I asked him about that; I gather he sees Hogwarts as something to shed, and certainly, your daughter will not harm his reputation internationally. The attitudes in Britain are unique, and nearly at the point of biting one’s nose off to spite their face.” He paused, and leaned forward. “You understand, that I was rather puzzled when I met the esteemed dueling master face to face last year. I knew he must wear a glamour, but still, I should have been able to pry at the gaps. He’s adored by his Ravenclaws, and well liked in general. His colleagues listen when he speaks, except Albus Dumbledore. I noticed he plays up his mindless happy mask the worst around Dumbledore, but I didn’t really realize how much of that was a mask, and it makes me wonder very much about whoever he’s got at his back.”

 

“Yes,” said Dell tiredly. “As I said, Mony is the businesswoman. I am the people person. Filius does not lie, so I believe him that he has allies that he can trust. But our child has attended the school for four years, and there is not a single person I would lay money on helping us like this.”

 

“I spent nearly a year at that school,” Jean Paul said, “and I wouldn’t disagree with that assessment.”

 

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes me really want to return to Venice. One of those places I thought I wouldn't enjoy but fell completely in love with!


	6. I am...The Great Stone Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of the rest of Hermione's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...more plot, more fluff. Sorry/not sorry.
> 
> Also, poor Cho. Her boyfriend dies and her parents send her back to Hogwarts? Seriously, has the Wizarding World never heard of mental health or PTSD?
> 
> Also, in Venice, the cards really are a thing. Many businesses print little maps on the back of them- can be challenging to find somewhere again, otherwise!

The young ladies of Hogwarts, when they retreat into their dormitories, gossip and compare notes about a great many topics—such as who likes who, was it normal for one’s body to do that, and what they should wear for their next Hogsmeade date. As they age, they start talking about their wedding robes, future husbands, and what they might name their children. Hermione rarely joined in, but indeed, she wondered about the same future dreams as Lavender and Parvarti chattered. She wondered who she’d marry, and how he’d propose, and how they would spend the day after that proposal.

Of course, like all childhood fantasies, the reality was quite different. She woke up the next day, feeling normal for a split second, and then bolted up, remembering. Professor Flitwick! He was in the same house, and now her betrothed. What would she say to him over the breakfast table? She needed to shower, and get ready right now! She dithered in the shower over what she should wear, only to emerge to find Fleur and Gabrielle waiting, armed with various beauty aids and an outfit already chosen. She donned the pretty coral, smocked shift and and sat meekly as the two militant Veelas prepared her hair and face.

The three girls crept downstairs and entered the dining room, where the adults were drinking coffee and eating croissants. 

“Morning, ladies,” said Filius, slathering a croissant with dark purple jam. 

“Morning,” chorused the girls. Fleur shoved Hermione in the small of her back, and she took a seat across from Filius. He poured her a cup of coffee and passed her the pastry platter. She tried not to stare; he was dressed in the same clothing as the previous day, and he hadn’t replaced his glamour. When he’d offered the Apprenticeship, she’d felt some guilty relief; at least an old half-goblin would not be disappointed in her plain Jane appearance. But now—she felt ugly next to this beautiful fey man. What must he think of her awkward form?

Filius glanced up, and saw the child staring at him. “Hermione,” he said, lowering the croissant, “have I smeared jam on my face, dear?”

“N-No,” she stuttered. “It’s just—your glamour.”

Ah. Of course. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can replace it,” he offered, “I quite realize that you might prefer my more familiar facade.” He didn’t like it though. Bad enough he had to wear it at Hogwarts.

“It’s not that,” she said, dejected. “It’s just—well—I’m surely not the sort of lady you expected to marry.”

“In what sense?” He asked, as the others looked up from their meals. Monica and Annalise looked concerned but kept silent.

“Well, I’m not really, you know, good looking like you, sir.”

He chuckled. The overwhelming relief fueled his laughter, which quickly became guffaws. “You—“ he gasped. Dell and Fleur now looked offended on the behalf of his reddening Puck. Best head them off now, he thought. 

He dropped the croissant and leaned forward. “Hermione Granger, give you a good decade, and I assure you, you are exactly the sort of lass my friends would be daring me to approach in a club, on a Saturday eve.” Dell sat back in his chair, relaxed but waiting to see his daughter’s reaction.

She sat up straight. “Really?”

“Mm-hm.” Puck had long legs, smart eyes, and expressive hands. Even her wild curls—why, any man’d wonder what it would be like to rake his fingers through it while she lay between his legs and put her clever mouth around his—he’d best stop picturing that. She was a child!

“And would you? What would happen?”

“Oh, yes. I’d go right over to you, all prepared with a really suave line, and you’d turn around and say,” he clasped his hands in front of him and adopted a high voice, “Why Professor Flitwick, so nice to see you! You haven’t changed a bit, dear old man. Becky, look, it’s our head of house!”

The table erupted in laughter. “Did that really happen?” Dell asked.

“Alas, yes.”

“How awful,” said Hermione. “Who was it?”

“Oh, you’d not have met her—Briony Tamsworth, Class of 1975. And quite luckily for me, she didn’t actually recognize me—I recognized her, and apologized, said I’d mistook her for someone else. Slunk away, libido quite dead, and vowed to never hit on another woman in England again. Told my friends I would only go out with them in Italy or Greece after that.”

“What did they say?” Asked Fleur.

“Turns out the bints were setting me up—They recognized her and her friends, you see, and wanted to teach this old satyr a lesson he’d never forget.”

“That’s—That’s a miserable, awful thing to do,” cried Hermione.

“Puck,” he said gently, “I wasn’t angry or hurt. That was four years after the Potters had been murdered, and Pomona and Rolanda just wanted to see Minerva smile again. She’d taken the end of the war awfully hard.”

Hermione gulped. “Oh. Did it work?”

“Minerva has the best laugh, m’dear, and I’d almost forgotten what it sounded like before that night.”

“I’m glad,” she flushed, “I mean, not that you experienced that, but Professor McGonnagall needs a bit of happiness.”

“We all do.” Then he changed the subject, “So! What plans have the shopping experts for me today?”

“Oh, too many to list,” Monica said, grinning. “After you retired last night, Annalise pulled out all of the cards and catalogues of Venetian clothiers she likes, and we plotted out a strategic plan.”

Annalise swished her wand, and a map of Venice with at least a hundred labelled points sprung up over the table.

“Oh, that’s so amazing,” said Hermione, her eyes wide. “Madam, will you show me how you did that?”

“Of course, dear, but later. Today we shop!”

Filius poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d need plenty of fuel for this outing.

 

“Annalise,” said Monica as they waited on the dock for the boat taxi to arrive. “listed a few different beginnings, Filius, as we didn’t know if you preferred suits or more casual attire. And we weren’t sure what you do about ready made muggle clothing at all, given your stature. Hermione thought you must have transfigured your clothing yesterday, but Annalise and Jean Paul said that sort of magic isn’t something one can trust for long.”

“Indeed. Well, m’dear, it depends on where I shop. I bought this outfit at Harrods; they have a magical tailor on staff, and so the charms on these clothes are more or less permanent.”

“They do?” Blurted Hermione. “You mean, I can shop places other than Diagon Alley?”

“Oui,” said Fleur, “You did not know?”

“No! Why does no one tell us this?”

“Well,” said Filius, “Part of it is that British wizards really don’t like to admit they mix with Muggles at all. Might give the Muggle Borns airs, y’know.”

“Many don’t, I thought,” said Monica tentatively.

“Oh, no,” said Filius. “You need to be a shut in, or extraordinarily wealthy to never leave Magical London. Or both.”

“The Weasley’s aren’t very at ease with Muggles,” said Dell. “Or at least they don’t seem to be.” He added, looking thoughtful.

“The Prewetts are essentially wealthy shut ins—besides, Molly buys much of the children’s clothing at the second hand shop in Hogsmeade—and I don’t recommend taking Arthur at face value. Ever.” Filius shaded his eyes. “Here it comes. Anyway, Monica, to answer your question, I certainly prefer suits. Linen, mostly.”

“Right then,” said Jean Paul. “The card with the tailor’s address, love?” Annalise handed him a small card and he showed it to the boat captain, who nodded. They climbed in, and headed to the first of many, many stops.

On the bench seat in front of the hat shop, Hermione sat next to Gabrielle, who was kicking her feet. Both girls had enjoyed the shopping for awhile, but it was five hours later and even Fleur was beginning to flag. Hermione had been taken aback to realize that Filius actually did enjoy shopping. Harry and Run never wanted to stop somewhere other than Fortescue’s and the quidditch shop. Filius enjoyed flipping through drawings of suits, and feeling scraps of fabric, and arguing vehemently in Italian with tailors, shopkeepers, and various artisans. He showed no sign of slowing down, and both her parents and the elder Delacours really got into their quest. 

The others came pouring out of the shop. The ladies wore improbable fascinators—Monica, Hermione realize with a sort of sick horror, had bought one with tiny little dragons guarding gaudy rhinestones. The men wore beribboned boaters. Dell’s had a ribbon with embroidered Gondolas flitting about, but Hermione was terribly relieved to see that Filius and Jean Paul had chosen simple silken ribbon. 

“I think it’s time for some sandwiches,” said Filius. “Young ladies need their energy!” He turned and walked back towards the main alley, chatting with Dell. Hermione suppressed a groan. On the back of the hat, a grinning gargoyle with jeweled eyes matching the ribbon was waving at her madly. Jean Paul had a gargoyle as well, dangling a bunch of grapes over his wide maw.

Fleur, walking next to her, touched her arm, and she looked over to see her friend smiling sympathetically. “I’m sorry, I did try to steer them towards more subdued hats, but they were rather like le enfants in a candy store.”

“Well, I love the hats,” piped up Gabrielle. “Especially Filius’ gargoyle. He’s so friendly!”

Flitwick turned around and bowed, tipping his hat at the young Veela. “You and I, ma petite, will get along well, I can already tell.” The little girl skipped up to him and grabbed his hand. “Really, Filius?” They walked forward, and Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy. Stupid, she told herself. She’s just a little girl. Ah, herself answered back airily, you know you wish you had the gumption to hold his hand yourself.

Meanwhile, the other adults were bemusedly watching the Goblin and Veela walking side by side. Gabrielle was the only member of the group that was close to Filius’s height and the two made a charming, though bizarre pair.

“Really,” said Flitwick. “We’ve so much in common.”

“Like what?” Demanded Gabrielle.

“Gabbi,” sighed Annalise.

“It’s no bother, Annie, remember, I teach for a living.” Then he said to Gabrielle, “Well, we both like my gargoyle, and I saw who ate the rest of my favorite jam this morning, mademoiselle, and—“ he leaned closer and widened his eyes. “We both suffer under the despotic rule of bossy older sisters.” Gabrielle burst into trilling laughter. Jean Paul and Annalise exchanged smiles of relief. Gabrielle could be a bit difficult, if one did not know how to talk to her. That was not a problem their new friend had!

“Well!” Sniffed Fleur loudly. “Does your older, wiser, and more beautiful sister know what a terrible ingrate you are?” Hermione smothered a laugh.

“Yes,” said Filius. “All three of them,” He sniffed loudly, and tossed his head.

“You poor thing,” cooed Gabrielle, “I cannot imagine living with three Fleurs. One is all I can handle!”

“Well, do you know what I do when I can no longer face my lot in life, young lady?” She shook her head. “I drown my sorrows with gelato!”

The little girl grinned wildly. “Oh, me too! What’s your favorite, then?”

“Salted caramel and raspberry, naturally. You?”

“Birthday cake,” she answered.

“Oh, an excellent choice, m’dear.”

So, after pizza, they got Gelato, and rested on the gelateria’s patio for a short time, enjoying their cool treats. July in Venice is quite hot and humid, and even the adults were happy to take a break.

“So,” said Dell, “I’m no doubt overstepping my bounds here, old bean, but I’ve been wondering about what you said about Arthur. First time I met the fellow, he asked me very earnestly what purpose a rubber ducky served.”

Jean Paul chuckled. “Oh, yes, he asked me the same.”

“What did you say?” Asked Monica, curious.

“That his reputation preceded him, and I didn’t think I knew him quite well enough to ram that rubber ducky up his ass.”

The others looked startled except Filius, who laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair. 

Fleur looked between Filius and Jean Paul. “So, what did he say to that?” Her papa was rarely quite so plain spoken with strangers, let alone Ministry officials of a foreign country.

“Oh, he licked his lips, looked me up and down, and said to let him know when I decided I knew him well enough, as he’d always heard Veelas tasted somewhat like chicken. In exquisite Parisian French, no less.” Jean Paul was grinning ruefully. “Likes to live dangerously, that man.” 

Filius was pounding the table with one fist. “Yes—“ he gasped. “He does! That, sir, is his litmus test. If you take him seriously, he writes you off and lets Molly at you—you passed, I’m sure, so no doubt he deigned to have a real conversation with you.”

“Oh, dear,” sighed Monica. “That explains a lot, Dell.” Her husband nodded, wide eyed.  
“So he’s smart?” Asked Hermione.

“Oh, yes. Ravenclaw, y’know, my predecessor introduced us. Knew Arthur and Molly had just had a son, and said he’d feel remiss in his duties if I shook Arthur’s hand and came away missing a few digits. Didn’t really need too, though, I knew Septimus, Arthur’s father, and Arthur is frighteningly like him.”

“Ron says all Weasleys are always Gryffindors!” Said Hermione, scandalized. “It makes Harry feel terrible.”

“Why would that make Mr. Potter feel bad?” Annalise looked confused.

“Harry’s parents were Gryffindors but the hat threatened to sort Harry into Slytherin.” Filius licked his spoon clean, and tossed it and the container into the garbage.

“The teachers know?”

“Certainly. The hat is quite the gossip and Minerva enjoys rubbing it in Severus’ face every quidditch match.” Filius saw the appalled look on Hermione’s face and said gently, “Puck, I’d like to tell you adults are all kind and wise, honest and generous, but I’ve taught at a boarding school a quarter of a century, and I can tell you those children you attend classes with grow up to be adults with similar strengths and failings, whatever house they may be in.”

Dell and Monica exchanged a look of understanding as Hermione nodded sheepishly. This, they thought, was why they liked the fellow. They’d tried to hammer this very idea into the girl’s head her entire life; she was entirely too convinced that books held truth, and adults were trustworthy.

“At any rate,” said Filius, “Weasleys are generally Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. When they attend Hogwarts anyway—many of them went into diplomacy, and I believe Arthur spent his childhood between Paris and Kyoto. Only coincidence that brought him to Hogwarts. His father fell ill, and had to retire when he was ten.”

Jean Paul nodded, “Well, that’d explain it.”

The others turned to him and he clarified, “The Japanese Ambassador to France heard me mention Fleur was picked for the Triwizard Tournament, and he told me to give a chap named Arthur Weasley what for over the rubber duck trick. The man apparently had pulled the same trick on one of his young attaches and the lad spent his entire time in London looking over his shoulder for Molly. He said he knew Arthur from way back, and he was a first rate bastard when he wanted to be—but that he knew everyone there was to know in the British Isles.”

“Indeed, Arthur networks like mad. Arthur doesn’t bring Molly with him when he actually wants something done. If Molly shows up with him to discuss her kids’ progress in class, I merely twitter and giggle. If Arthur shows up, I get out the absinthe and we drink while catch him up on his children. He understands politics, and he knows what I am. Actually gave me few tips on how to improve my glamour charm.” Filius shook his head. “Not a polite topic in Britain, y’know, blood magic, but he just calmly sketched out my ward array, and then made his own little tweaks. We were dancing with the green fairy, and it took him all of five minutes. An array I’d spent six years struggling with!”

“It is rather better than I’ve seen, before, Filius. Wasn’t sure if you’d care to talk about it, though.”

“I wouldn’t normally, but your association with Hermione means a more time with the Weasleys. I wanted to make sure you understood the real force in that household. If you feel bullied or steamrolled by Molly, you just go around her to Arthur, and he’ll reign her in.”

“It seems sort of disrespectful,” said Hermione quietly.

Filius sighed, “I’d normally agree, but Molly Weasley is not a reasonable woman, and Arthur, for reasons only known to him, encourages many of her worst impulses. I chewed him out for that howler she sent you this year, you know, and he looked me right in the eyes and said “Goblin, if your pet Mudblood cannot handle herself with the likes of Molly Prewett, you need to get her to leave the country. I’ve my hands full protecting Ronnie and Gin.” He’s honest, when you ask him up front.”

Dell looked horrified. “And we’ve let Hermione stay in that house!”

“He’s no bigot,” said Hermione, “He said the first time I visited that he quite enjoyed the way my class standing made the pureblood mud brains froth at the mouth.”

“Yes,” agreed Filius. “Shock value. Told you, diplomacy. Septimus could be converse in twenty different tongues, and he enjoyed pretending he didn’t speak a one. The Bank Management adored him—he was as shameless as any goblin, and in fact, he was often asked to test new tellers on their ability to handle the more bigoted customers.”

“Those howlers, though,” said Monica uncomfortably. “Humiliating her own children like that?”

“Monica,” said Flitwick. “Ronald stole their magical car, flew it hundreds of miles to Scotland with another, non related minor, and crashed said car into an magical, highly dangerous willow tree. Howler would have been the very least of his worries had he been my youngling!”

“When you say it that way…” Dell’s lips twitched.

“Yes,” said Monica, “I’d probably stormed straight into the school and screamed at Hermione in front of the whole student body!”

“You should spend time with the twins,” muttered Hermione. “Ron does that sort of thing because he’s an idiot—Fred and George do it because they think it sounds like a jolly good time. If Mrs. Weasely wasn’t nutters before, that would’ve been enough to do it.”

“Mm-hm,” agreed Filius. “Minerva often drinks copiously in the summer just to brace herself for another year of the Right and Honorable Terrors, as Arthur likes to call them.” He stood up and dusted his hands off. “Now, speaking of that howler—I’d like to take Puck to a shop I think she’ll quite enjoy.”

Hermione stared around the narrow, high ceilinged shop with wonder. She’d thought perhaps Filius was taking her to a bookstore, but it instead turned out to be a fabulous trove of parchment and stationary, both magical and muggle. She wandered to the front, to look at some quills. The others, including the tiny Chinese woman behind the counter watched her indulgently.

“Fine choice,” Dell muttered, standing next to Flitwick. “I can tell I’ll not be escaping here without spending serious money. Please tell me they take bank card.”

“Oh they do indeed,” said Filius, “But please, sir, consider such a purchase as my first step to winning my lady’s favor.”

“Are you sure?” Dell said warily, “You’ve not even seen her in a bookstore yet, Fil.”

Filius grinned wickedly, “Dear friend, I’ve spent plenty of your money over the years—who did you think gave her those lists upon lists of extra reading she buys every year? Certainly not the M’sieurs Potter and Weasley.”

“Oh, you dirty bastard,” Monica breathed. The Delacours stifled their laughter as Filius tipped his hat at the Grangers.

“In all seriousness,” said Dell, “Thank you, once again, man. She loves books, and I’m always impressed about your assortment versus her assigned book list.”

Filius nodded. “All of the professors are well aware that families may have a limited budget. I’d love to assign the newest edition of the best quality book every year, but it would badly hurt larger families, like the Weasleys, so the books on the list are limited and usually at least a few years out of date.”

“A similar phenomenon happens in Muggle universities,” agreed Dell. “Well, in that case…Hermione!” 

The girl turned around and grinned. “Yes, dad? Surely you don’t think you’ll get out here so quickly?”

“Oh, no, no, take your time. You know, to celebrate your engagement, I think just this once I’ll say your budget is…limitless.”

The girl nodded, and then narrowed her eyes, “Just here, or also at a bookstore?”

Filius nodded slightly to Dell. “Oh, what the hell, let’s go all out shall we? It’s not every day my little girl gets betrothed!”

A young Chinese woman stuck her head out of the back room and asked disbelievingly, “Hermione? You are betrothed?”

“Cho!” Hermione exclaimed. “How are you?”

The other girl shuffled into sight, coming to stand next to the old shopkeeper. “Better,” she said, subdued.”It hasn’t been the best summer. I still—I’ll eat a piece of candy or read a book, and I’ll think C-Cedric will love this and then I r-realize,” she broke down into tears. Before the adults could react, Hermione leapt behind the counter, and put her arms around the other teenager. 

“I’m so, so sorry to make you cry, Cho!”

The other girl clung to her. “No—No—don’t be sorry. You knew Cedric, you see. Everyone here, they don’t understand!” She drew back and wiped her eyes, smiling tremulously. “Besides, I’ve been a terrible wreck since I got off the Express, it’s really not you.” She breathed deeply and then grabbed Hermione’s hand. “Come back, and I’ll show you the shipment we just got in—some beautiful paper—and you must tell me about the sexy brave lad who won the heart of the Gryffindor Bookworm. Does he appreciate your brain?”

Hermione turned towards the watching group and arched an eyebrow, “I don’t know! Filius Flitwick, my sexy brave lad! Do you appreciate my brain?”

“Not as much as I appreciate your clever mouth,” said the man devilishly.

Hermione turned red and snickered. “Had that coming, I suppose.”

“Professor Flitwick!” Said Cho with astonishment. She looked carefully between her smiling Head of House and the blushing Hermione. She tugged Hermione insistently towards the back room. “Oh, Fleur! Bonjour, please come as well—I want to know every naughty detail Hermione leaves out!” The teenagers disappeared, whispering. Giggles came out of the open doorway until the small shopkeeper waved her wand and cast a privacy ward. 

She walked over to Flitwick and took his hand with both of hers. “Thank you, Master Goblin, thank you for bringing your young mate here. That is the first time my granddaughter has shown genuine interest in something since she returned from school. My son and his wife simply could not stand to keep her in England for the summer—it was breaking them, to see her like this.”

“It was no problem at all, my dear.” He patted her tiny claw like hands, “As I wrote to you, Cho is one of my favorite Claws, and I had had high hopes for her and young Mr. Diggory.”

“As did we all,” said the small woman. “A great regret of mine, you know, is that I didn’t adopt him into the Clan. I planned to offer it to him, upon graduation, and it would have saved his hide, Professor.”

“Clan?” Asked Dell intrigued. 

“Madam Chang, these are my good friends, the Delacours, and my in-laws, the Grangers.”

“How do you do. If they know of your secret, Filius, by all means…”

Filus said, “You might have noticed M’sieur Delacour is a halfling like Cho and myself.” He looked at his friends and said, “You must understand, you cannot repeat this to anyone in England.” Everyone nodded. “The Changs are an Imperial Dragon Clan.”

Jean Paul and and Annalise looked startled and bowed deeply to the old woman.

“P’shaw,” she said, “No need! We Changs have been exiled for a few centuries now, and this is our dominion,” She swept a hand around her store. “Venezia! Home of the Exiled Reptiles!”

“Venice was originally built by a handful of Naga who needed a safe place to live,” explained Annalise to the Grangers. “Thus, you see, the real reason for the canals.”

“Fascinating,” said Dell, “Will we have a chance to meet an actual Naga?”

Madam Chang smiled coyly, “What makes you think you’ve not already?”

Just then, the girls came tumbling out of the back room. Fleur cried, “Mama! May Cho come to stay with us?”

“She may visit,” said Annalise, “But I am very sorry, Cho, we simply haven’t the space for another houseguest this summer.”

Cho nodded. “I understand. Besides, I need to be around my family, so that my Father is convinced that I am stable enough to return to Hogwarts. I cannot miss seeing everyone’s reaction to Hermione’s betrothal!”

“When it comes to Grand Reveals, timing is everything,” warned Filius. “I’m trusting that you will allow me to pick that timing.”

“Sir!” Cho smiled toothily at him. “As if I’d ever steal a Goblin’s fun!”

“Indeed, the Changs are known for such wisdom,” he said. “Well, ladies? Get cracking on that shopping—we’ve still bookstores to plunder.” The girls scattered and Filius wandered over to a wall of parchment racks, humming to himself. 

The men watched, amused, as he selected everything from pale blue to vibrant orange to a headache inducing magical parchment that had cavorting clowns animatedly tumbling across the page. 

The shopkeeper snorted. “I knew you’d like that one, Goblin, I bought it for you.”

“It’s interesting,” said Jean Paul, “Whoever is your intended recipient?” Beside him, Dell nodded mutely. He couldn’t look directly at the paper without feeling nauseous.

The Goblin looked innocent. “Albus, naturally.”

“Even the Headmaster can’t enjoy that,” said Hermione, peering over Filius’ shoulder.

“Oh, no, of course not,” said Cho. “Grandmother and the Professor are in cahoots to find the ugliest paper—they find the headmaster’s robes horribly offensive.”

“Arthur Weasley gave me the idea,” said the shopkeeper, smirking. 

“Why am I not surprised you’ve met that man,” said Filius. “He does enjoy the same sort of scorched earth style you do.”

The shopkeeper purred, “Oh, you don’t know half of it, Master Goblin.”

“I don’t think I want to know, either.” He turned to Hermione, “Are you still shopping, m’dear?”

“I would like a magical fountain pen, sir, but I don’t know much about those, and Cho said I’d best ask you and Madam Chang.”

“Perhaps a Franklin, Madam?”

“Indeed,” she agreed, and summoned a tray of elegant pens.

“How much?” Asked Hermione longingly. She knew even basic ones were far more expensive than her father would even buy for her mother.

“Don’t you worry, Gobliness, I’d not offer you anything you cannot take home with you.”

Hermione carefully read the description card offered to her and selected a burnished copper pen, with little rhinestones studding the cap. Well, surely, the must be rhinestones, she thought. Who would put amethysts on a pen?

“Very nice, young lady.” She looked at Flitwick. He said, “Listen, I’m going to write a number on a piece of paper, and you’ll tell me if I’m right or not.”

The shopkeeper chortled. “Now, Goblin, don’t strain your limited intellect. Just hand me your bank card, bambino, and be satisfied in knowing that a happy mate means a happy life. Cho! Pack up Miss Granger’s purchases, you’ll go along with them, and the Veela will find room for you for one night, hm? In exchange for her packmule services?” She looked narrowly at Annalise and Jean Paul.

“Indeed,” Jean Paul agreed easily. Cho hurried over to the counter and began carefully packaging up all of Hermione’s collected paper.

Hermione was wide eyed. “Professor! If I’d known you were paying I’d never have bought so much!”

Filius said cheerfully, “That, m’dear, is precisely the reason I enlisted your father’s aid. If anyone understands how to entice you into good spirits, it would be the man who raised you!”

“In that case, thank you, daddy, for understanding me,” She hugged Dell tightly.

“You never need to thank me for that,” he said, tears blurring his vision. “Just you smiling is enough for me, and I’m grateful your “sexy, brave lad” understands that.”


	7. Dreamy far off look and her nose stuck in a book.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight into the past...

The next day, Filius settled in the sitting room and his newly acquired stack of parchment. Dell and Jean Paul watched him curiously from the divan, having settled there under the pretext of playing cribbage. (They’d tried to play wizarding chess, but Dell kept forgetting that one shouldn’t touch the pieces, and after several bites, stabs, and thumps from his pieces, declared that the game really just wasn’t for him). The girls had gone with Cho to have tea with Madam Chang, and the men had expressly Not Been Invited.

 

“Filius, you write beautifully,” said Jean Paul. “I’m not sure I’ve see anyone other than my grandmother use that particular style.” Filius was writing a letter to Albus, on the clown parchment, using an intricate calligraphy style. He’d cast an obscuring charm on the clowns so that he could focus properly.

 

“Likely because it’s exceedingly painful to read,” said Filius, “This is what my father calls ‘annoying handwriting that I use on impatient customers’. I never thought I’d have a use for it, and then, naturally, Albus came into my life.”

 

“Grandmere uses it against everyone,” said Jean Paul. “More than a few of us have learned the hard way that one cannot simply ignore her missives.”

 

“Ah yes; Albus attempted the first few times to pretend he could not recall them, so I started copying them, and simply handing him a new one every time he asked. He hates not knowing things, so he’s stuck reading them.”

 

Dell said, “Please tell me you sign those letters with all of your titles, as well.”

 

“But of course. I am currently up to at least eleven ridiculous titles, and once I tell him of the Apprenticeship, I shall be adding, ‘The Lucky Husband of the Honorable Miss Hermione Granger’ to the list.” His friends laughed.

 

“Why the different pieces of parchment, and various colors of ink? Hermione told me it wasn’t a wizarding custom as far as she knew, but admitted she didn’t really interact with many adults,” said Dell.

 

“Well—“

 

“No—“

 

Filus motioned for Jean Paul to continue. The French man said, “Complex, once again, Dell. Wizards abide by many of the old etiquette rules for calling cards and correspondence, so I think Filius may be influenced by that, but he seems to go a step further. Filius?”

 

“One moment,” Filius undid the Obscurus, and cast a non-smear and non-tampering charm, then folded it and sealed it with a wax seal. “There!” He addressed it, tossed it aside and began another letter, this time on pale blue paper, using standard print.

 

“What did those charms do?”

 

“Dried the ink, and made it so Albus couldn’t obscure the clowns himself, correct, Fil?” asked Jean Paul.

 

“Mm-hm. To continue your previous train of thought, it’s not a wizarding thing, it’s a Flitwick thing. Goblins love contracts; Flitwicks love drawn out correspondence. Tis how we argue, court, befriend, alienate, prank, and negotiate. I know the Changs not only because of their grandchild, but also because my father knows every stationary seller on the continent. Even the less scholarly of my relatives would never dream to be caught writing form letters.” He grinned. “Dell, if you think she can spend money now, wait until she receives tutelage from my various relatives.”

 

“Well, that does make me feel better,” said Dell. “One of my recurring nightmares was of Hermione marrying someone who never stepped foot in a bookstore. No doubt they would think my girl would be low maintenance considering her lack of interest in female fripperies.”

 

“Your worries in that regard are completely unfounded. The only issue I predict is convincing Puck that we really do not need two of every book in my library.”

 

Dell snorted, “Ah, but editions are 'different', Filius. She owns three copies of _Hogwarts_ , _A History_ , you know.”

 

“No, no, I quite quite agree with her there. I myself own nine editions of _Gretsky’s Household Charms_. I meant identical copies, my friend.”

 

Dell groaned. “Oh, you two definitely deserve each other then.”

 

“Annalise does not think she is uninterested in those so called fripperies,” said Jean Paul, “She hypothesized that Hermione thought herself unattractive, so focused whole heartedly on academics.”

 

“True,” said Dell. “She was a rather introverted little girl, and in hindsight, a lot of that came from the fact that we’d try to reign her in because when she got excited…well, odd things would happen.”

 

“Accidental magic,” said Filius, nodding. “There’s a debate over when Muggleborns should be informed, you know, going back centuries. Too soon, and harm could come to the child. But too late? Well, many would argue eleven is far too late.”

 

“I don’t know which I’d prefer,” said Dell. “We really had a hard time with her, and I think we created some of her neuroses without even realizing it. But then again, I would have felt even worse, with Big Brother looking over our shoulder. What is the reason for waiting so long—sadly, I would think many wizards would be all for snatching children away from their parents?”

 

“Like the changelings of the old fairy tales, you mean?” Filius said sardonically.

 

Dell recalled suddenly who, exactly, he was talking to. “I didn’t mean like that, Professor Flitwick…”

 

Jean Paul broke in, “He knows; it’s mere Goblin mischief.”

 

Filius nodded in agreement. “Filius, Dell, I’ve told you. Don’t let my poor taste taint our friendship. Anyway, the best answer is that our society is based on kinship, and we are tremendously protective of our children. We take care of our own blood, so there is the expectation that Muggles do the same. The presence of the two of us in this household will be taken by others to mean that we are trusted confidants or even illegitimate relations of Jean Paul. Gabrielle is only eight, after all.” 

 

“Oui,” Jean Paul agreed, “People may even assume you are not human after all, given that Filius is engaged to Hermione and Hermione is friendly with my daughter. Magical beings tend to stick together.”

 

“Huh,” said Dell. “I knew Gabrielle was homeschooled, but I assumed that was a mark of class or because of her heritage. If it’s not—what of the Weasleys? It occurs to me that Ron has not mentioned any childhood friends.”

 

“Right,” said Filius. “Hermione asked me why there wasn’t a pamphlet for Muggleborns entering our world, to make up for a lack of primary school knowledge, and the simple reason is this—we have no real primary schools. The magical villages have a whip around to hire a teacher for their younglings, but otherwise, people make their own arrangements. I can tell you which children learned penmanship from Molly and which learned it from Arthur. Ron, very unfortunately, falls into the former category. I’m not saying he’d be a student of Hermione’s caliber, but his skills just are not up to par with the three oldest.”

 

“How about the three others?” Asked Jean Paul thoughtfully.

 

“Ah. Caught that, did you?” Filius bespelled and sealed up Minerva’s letter. “There’s a definite slope downwards. Percy is obsessive compulsive about appearing less than perfect—I’ve not figured out why. The others show signs of possible neglect, but I can’t convince anyone of it, really. Just a feeling. The twins are difficult for Minerva to take seriously, and Ginny is very talented at blending in. She copies people around her, mostly in benign ways, but there’ve been a few worrisome incidents.”

 

“Her first year, you mean,” said Dell.

 

“No, my friend. I don’t have a clear picture of what even happened then. I mean her shunning of the Lovegood girl, an unsuitable crush on Mr. Potter, and generally, she was a bit cosseted as the only daughter. She’s turned that into a way of manipulating others around her, especially her brothers, that I very much do not like.”

 

“Hermione has mentioned a few incidents that pointed to that. My daughter is so used to being rejected that she thinks her inability to befriend Ginny is her fault.”

 

“Hermione is a charming girl,” said Jean Paul, surprised. “Polite, verbose, good natured.”

 

Filius said, “And oh, at least three years above her peers, Jean Paul. She is isolated at Hogwarts by her refusal to keep her head down and play dumb. Put her in the room with the likes of Cho Chang, Percy Weasley, Oliver Wood, Penelope Clearwater—even Roger Davies—she’ll get into some sort of deep discussion about magical theory in five minutes flat. Viktor Krum did not ask her out because of her indifference to quidditch—although I’m sure he found that intriguing—he asked her out because they had a cat fight in the Library Stacks over the veracity of a scholarly source.”

 

Dell and Jean Paul stared disbelievingly at the little professor. Filius added, “I walked in to find Minerva, Septima, and Pince hiding behind the Collection desk, eating chocolate frogs and betting on the outcome.” The two men erupted in laughter.

 

When Dell caught his breath,he asked, “So, don’t leave us in suspense, man, who won?”

 

Filius said, “They were both technically wrong, and I made the mistake of saying so. Followed me around for two days looking up my citations and countering with their own. I’m not sure if I sparked a grand passion on his part, or he simply decided he’d enjoy having a dinner companion that could carry a conversation.”

 

“The latter,” said Jean Paul. “I like the Krums, and I know they were disappointed when Viktor failed to keep Hermione’s attention. They could see a future Mrs. Krum, you know, but Viktor was a bit too desperate to be proper.”

 

“Hermione, meanwhile, thought she needed to be ladylike,” remarked Dell. “She was too quiet around the boy, because she was intimidated by his age and career.”

 

“I can see that,” said Filius. “Even myself—you know, yesterday morning, I had a bad moment when she brought up the glamour. Read something into it that just wasn’t there.”

 

“You thought she saw you as The Other,” said Jean Paul.

 

“Mm-hm.”

 

“Why would that even cross your mind? Hermione likes you.” Dell leaned forward. “We all like you. Human, Goblin, Wizard, Muggle, Veela. Who cares?”

 

“Many, many people do,” said Jean Paul drily. “I knew what he was thinking because so many people chase after Veela right until they see an actual Veela.”

 

“Yes,” said Filius, “Remember Briony Tamsworth?”

 

“The student you hit on,” said Dell grinning wickedly.

 

“Yes,” said Filius. “That was the age appropriate version, y’know. Miss Tamsworth was one of my very favorite students—enjoyed swapping books, Prefect, Head Girl, sent me wonderful trinkets from her family vacations. I approached her in this form and she said quite coldly, ‘Goblin, let me save us both time right now—I’d never dream of sullying myself with such filth.”

 

Dell’s amused expression had melted into dazed horror.

 

Jean Paul nodded gravely. “There are people who will invite you over to dinner, dance with you at a ball, and call you friend in school. But then your little girl asks their son out, and they cut you dead. Your child may be funny, smart, and beautiful, and still be utterly repulsive as a romantic partner for their child. Simply because you are not human, and they never forgot that.”

 

“Indeed,” said Filius Flitwick. “It makes you so very unwilling to make that first, simple overture.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know, children's books and all...but it's always interested me that the villains are so very villainous. The bigots like Malfoy aren't likely who Filius (if he was real) would have to watch out for. They aren't the real threat in society because they are a tiny (disliked) fraction. No, it'd be people like Molly Weasley who hear stories of Veela or Muggle's "loose ways" that would scare me. Rita Skeeter's readers *shudder*. "Burning a cross in the quarterback's backyard just because he dared to ask out the homecoming queen".


	8. Letters Galore!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back home...

 

 

 

A short eared owl dropped a packet of letters in Pomona Sprout’s salad and waited for the woman to handover a piece of hard boiled egg before taking off again. Pomona rifled through the letters, selected hers, and passed the stack on. “Letters from Filius,” she said brightly.

 

“I had wondered why we hadn’t seen the fellow in a few days,” said Pince. She ripped hers open and said, “Ah, says here that he is on holiday, hunting for some books for Christmas gifts. Wants to know what editions of _Hogwarts, A History_ Miss Granger owns, and which ones she most wants.”

 

“As if you’d know that,” sneered Severus.

 

Pince bristled. “Of course I do, Professor Snape! She has the previous three, and she desperately wants—like all collectors do—the 1889 edition with the misprint. Lovely thought, but I fear Filius will have no luck in finding it.”

 

“He’ll enjoy the chase, though,” snorted Septima. “I may send him a list of the titles I’m hunting for, then, because I’m sure he’ll be in and out of every bookstore between here and Athens. What does your letter say, Severus?”

 

The Potions master was growling at an acid green sheet of paper. “He apologizes for his absence, as he knows how much I yearn for his fellowship, and assures me that he’ll return in time for the Annual Staff Campfire and Singalong in late August. In sparkly purple ink, the bastard.” He set the letter ablaze. “I am not going to your imbecilic get together, Hooch, I refuse!”

 

“Oh, Rubeus will so terribly miss his fellow baritone, Severus. But suit yourself.” Hooch shoved her letter in her pocket with several cookies and apples, and hurried from the Great Hall.

 

Albus opened his own letter, and flinched at the sight of jesters tumbling across the page. Why did Filius insist on using such terrible parchment? What was the point of using such elaborate calligraphy and with florescent orange ink no less? “Erm, Minerva, did Filius happen to say in his letter to you where he went or when he will be back?”

 

“No,” said Minerva smugly, “He did say he mentioned it in his letter to you, though?”

 

“Ah.” Albus stalled, wondering if the letter would be less offensive to his eyes at second glance. He flipped it open again and nearly lost the trifle he’d just eaten for lunch. “What did he say in yours?”

 

“That he regrets that he can’t help with any of the Deputy Head paperwork or Castle projects this summer, but since his family did not see him this past winter due to the Yule Ball, he felt obligated to spend his break on the Continent, concerning himself with family matters,” she said briskly. “Good for him! He was looking rather peaked.”

 

“Oh,” said Albus, “Well, rather a poor time for it though. With Hagrid away…”

 

“You can call Hagrid back, Albus, any time you feel necessary,” Minerva interrupted, her voice hard. “The School pays for him to tend the grounds, not lark about on your personal errands.”

 

“Besides,” said Pomona, “Filius would never agree to shovel thestral manure, and if we had him repair the first year rowboats, you know we’d end up with dragon boats, or Venetian Gondolas.”

 

“Very true,” Albus sighed deeply, “Would anyone perhaps be willing to read Filius’ letter?”

 

Everyone except Minerva stuttered excuses and raced one another from the Hall. Minerva looked at him beadily and said, “I have plenty of my own personal correspondence to read, and if your eyesight is failing you, I’ll make you an appointment to get that checked.”

 

Albus said, “No, no, my dear Minerva, everything is in tip top shape.” He took the letter and set out to find Hooch. Perhaps if he promised her those new school brooms she’d been begging for, she’d read it. Not that there was any room in the budget for such a purchase.

 

* * *

 

Rolanda Hooch hung by her knees from her hovering broom and tossed apples to the splashing Squid below her. When she ran out of apples, she showed the squid her empty hands and he formed a large still raft in the center of the lake. She dived down and gently reclined against his smooth, wet skin. She slowly chewed one raisin oatmeal cookie and sighed in bliss. Now this—this was summer in Scotland! She opened her letter from Filius to find a delicate piece of paper illustrated with tiny, ink squirting squids, and read:

 

_Shade and Sweet Water, Ro!_

_I’m in Venice this summer, keeping company with the most wonderful lass. Her hair much reminds me of your own, although she does have an easier time of reigning it in, especially with the aid of certain beauty implements. I had rather thought she knew only of British options, like Sleak-eazy, but I’m happy to say she is greatly expanding her circle this summer._

 

_I’ve a fine puzzle to put before you, and I’d like you to come and visit, just as soon as you can get away. I realize that you are terribly busy, but it involves a mutual friend of ours. Poor fellow always finds himself in such pickles, you know, with three headed dogs, unicorns, and dragons! I know we’ve both been concerned for quite some time, and my lass has rather gently suggested something so obvious that you’ll kick yourself for missing. I certainly did! What a surprise!_

 

_With warm regards,_

 

_Fil_

 

Rolanda folded the letter, and put it back in the waterproof pouch around her neck. Well, well. So Hermione Granger was not only receptive to idea of Flitwick’s suit, she was spending time among the nonhumans of Venice. Goblins, probably, although there was the Chang chit as well. The second part she was less sure of—it could refer to Harry or Rubeus. Probably Harry, given that Rubeus could take care of his own problems (and had no issues with unicorns). She had to admit she was curious; what could a teenaged girl come up with that the Staff had not? Only one way to find out, sadly—get cracking on her actual duties. She climbed to her feet and picked up the broom. Circe’s tits! There was Albus on the shore, and he’d obviously seen her. She nudged her foot against the squid’s hide. “Give me a boost, eh?” The squid brought one tentacle before her, and she stepped on to it. The squid launched her high into the air, and she somersaulted onto her broom, coming to an abrupt stop in front of Albus.

 

“Quite impressive, my dear,” his eyes twinkled madly.

 

“Thank you, Headmaster,” she said, dismounting and slinging her broom over her shoulder. “Did you need me for something?”

 

“Oh, well, I was just thinking I’d take another look at those brooms you’ve been talking about, perhaps I’ve overlooked some spare money in the budget.”

 

Hooch narrowly avoided laughing in his face. As if she and Minerva didn’t go over the budget with a fine tooth comb, in hopes of upgrading the Quidditch supplies. Old codger was up to something, and she had a pretty good idea of what.

 

Sure enough, he said, “But first, I need to know if your dear friend Filius needed something—I was hoping you’d read the letter out loud, you know, just so I can make sure I missed something.”

 

She took the parchment he offered and opened it. Oh, Fil and that Dragon had really outdone themselves this time. Beautiful. If she didn’t enjoy stunt flying so much, she’d no doubt have felt a bit woozy at the sight.

 

She cleared her throat and struck a pose,

 

_“Dear Albus,_

 

_I am drinking Limoncello and thinking of you, sir, in the wonderful city of Naples. There’s a striga bartending here that told me the most fascinating story of our dear departed colleague Gilderoy Lockhart. Did you know that he didn’t duel her at all? He drank a bit too much table wine, asked her for her owl post address, and vomited into her cleavage. She says that she wrote to you when you hired him concerning this incident—apparently she thinks all teachers are teetotalers—Ha! Ha! Ha!—but never heard back. This, sir, is why you are a bachelor. A lovely Striga and you don’t bother writing her? Tsk, tsk, my dear boy._

 

_Anyway, I’m sure I’ll mosey back your way once I’m sober, and don’t worry, I’ve already given Minerva my lesson plans to mull over._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Filius Flitwick_

_Charms Professor_

_Master Duellist_

_3 time World Champion at Gobstones_

_Current Annoyer of Professor Snape_

_Sexiest Goblin of the Year, 1985”_

 

“All right, I get the picture.” Albus interrupted, sounding cranky. “How accurate is is your portrayal of the contents?”

 

“About as accurate as your belief there is extra money to be allocated for the brooms.” She thrust the parchment back at him. “Minerva said none of us are to help you until you dropped that idiotic plan of marrying Granger to Snape. She shit in my shoes last time; I’m not crossing that cat, old man.”

 

“Fine!” Albus snatched the paper and stalked back towards the Castle. His fuschia robes swished about his slender frame, while lime green seahorses swam across the fabric.

 

Rolanda Hooch grinned. It wasn’t a nice grin, or a friendly grin. It wasn’t a Goblin Grin or a Giant Grin. It was the grin of a woman who was going to see Albus roasted on a spit before she’d see Rubeus cry one more time over Harry Potter’s broken body. “Flitwick, your lass had better be every bit as clever as you think. War is coming to Hogwarts,” she hissed malevolently.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur Weasley sat at Grimmauld Place’s kitchen table and opened his letter from Flitwick. Molly was scrubbing the range and humming along to the Wireless.

 

_Dear Minister Weasley,_

_I do hope you and your wife are enjoying the fine weather. I am on the continent, with mutual friends, experiencing a very nice break from the realities of home. Do reassure the children that we will all be returning, much refreshed, in time for the school year. I am very much looking forward to Frederick’s and George’s thorough analysis of their chosen project—all thirty six inches from each twin. It goes without saying that I cannot wait to see Ronald’s promised improvement in penmanship. I would be positively delighted to receive a correct citation of works with Ginevra’s essay as well; I feel that last year’s misunderstanding should not be repeated._

_By the way, speaking of misunderstandings, our mutual acquaintances seemed to think that Molly assumed they had no plans this summer, when in fact, their daughter was truly looking forward to time spent away from the tense atmosphere that is pervading our society now. I assured them that I was certain it was a simple matter of wires getting crossed, but I thought you might want to reassure them yourself._

_Give my best wishes to your wife,_

_Filius Flitwick, Professor of Charms, Hogwarts_

Arthur sighed, and rubbed his temples. He re-read the letter. So, the twins were still slacking, and Ron’s work was still near illegible. Well, no news there. Far more concerning was the implication that Ginny might be plagiarizing. Not to mention the last bit…

 

“Molly,” Arthur said.

 

“Yes, Dear?” His plump wife said merrily, still scrubbing away.

 

“Come and sit down, Molly.” She stopped and came over, looking uncertain. Arthur pulled out a chair for her. Up close, he could see the strain in her face, and the forced nature of her buoyant attitude. Oh, Molly, he thought. He didn’t think Grimmauld was the place for his family, but if he’d put proper blood wards over the Burrow, Molly could not have anyone over, and he knew the isolation would break her heart. At least here she could see genuine progress in her busy work and chat with the Order members popping in and out.

 

“Molly,” he said carefully, “I’ve word that the Grangers misunderstood the invitation we issued Hermione.”

 

“They misunderstood? How does one misunderstand a written time and date, may I ask? So rude of them to not be home, Arthur.”

 

“Yes, dear,” said Arthur, “but that wasn’t the invitation. What precisely did you write to Miss Granger, and what did she reply?”

 

“Why, Ron wrote her, dear.”

 

Ah. Well, that would explain it. He went over to the door and roared, “Ronald Weasley! Kitchen! Now!”

 

His four youngest children, Sirius, Dung, and Tonks trooped in. He could feel his headache worsen. No, he was not enjoying Grimmauld Place. His children could not be told to go outside, and the other adults (if you considered any of those three adults) had few boundaries.

 

“Sit, Ron,”

 

“Yes, Dad.” Ron slouched over to the table and sat, propping his head up in his hands.

 

“Son, when you issued the invitation for your friend Miss Granger to spend the summer with us, what did she write in reply?”

 

The boy looked bored. “Haven’t you been listening to Mum? They did a runner!”

 

Fred snorted. “You make it sound like they were fleeing from the law, you git.”

 

“Yeah,” said George. “The Grangers went on a summer holiday like a normal family, not like certain other people who enslave their teenagers to clean a house they don’t even own.”

 

“Stop it, you two,” said Molly, “Some teenagers cannot be trusted to stay out of trouble!”

 

“I am speaking to Ron,” Arthur said. Everyone subsided; Arthur sounded like he was about to reach the end of his tether, which was a rare event, and something to be avoided at all costs.

 

He took a deep breath and then blew it out. “Ron. I mean your previous letter you wrote, after Albus suggested you might like company.”

 

His son picked at the Doxy bite on his arm. “Headmaster said Harry couldn’t come, so I didn’t write any letter. Hermione was going to see Krum this summer. Dunno why she’d want to see that git.” He wrinkled his nose.

 

“Really, Ron,” Ginny sniggered. “Hang out with you or a world famous Quidditch star? What a difficult choice.”

 

“You know, Ginny,” said Arthur dangerously, “Professor Flitwick wrote and mentioned that you needed to work on your citations this summer. Apparently there was a…misunderstanding last year?”

 

The girl pouted. “He made a mistake, that’s all.”

 

“Really?” Damn, damn, and double damn. He wondered if this was the first such “mistake” Flitwick had made. Why hadn’t the Duelling Master told him! Because, a voice whispered, Ron’s handwriting never improved, and the Twins don’t seem to care that they only received 6 owls. Maybe, the voice continued, the fellow has finally decided you aren’t worth the effort. He swallowed, distressed. Maybe he could turn things around this summer. “Really?” He asked more forcefully.

 

Ginny sniffled and looked at him with big, shining eyes. “Daddy, are you saying I would lie to you?”

 

Molly broke into flurry of kisses and hugs, scowling over Ginny’s head at Arthur. Yes, he thought. You lied about the diary. You lied about why you no longer socialize with little Luna. You lied about who cleaned the bathroom yesterday. He had more pressing concerns, though, so he said, “Of course not, honey,” and turned back to Ron.

 

“Are you saying,” he hissed, “That because of you, your mother sent a presumptuous letter that no doubt offended your friend’s parents, and certainly cost me time away from work?”

 

“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” admitted Ron.

 

“Oh, Arthur, I’m sure the Grangers will understand—they’re just Muggles,” said Sirius jovially. “Ron means well.”

 

“The next time anyone says they’re “just Muggles” as an excuse of a slight, insult, or worse, I will personally turn that person into a chamber pot and use it for a week!” Arthur roared. “Do you understand me?” Everyone nodded jerkily, taken aback by the normally happy man’s fury.

 

He took a few deep breaths and then said, “Well, Ronald, I suppose it’s fortunate that your friends couldn’t come; it gives you so much time to catch up on schoolwork.”

 

“I’ve two months!”

 

“And four years of substandard grades,” Arthur snapped.

 

“The twins got only 6 OWLs!” He stammered.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about you brothers, I assure you, they have plenty of work to do themselves. I’ve already signed them up for another OWLs testing, end of August.” The twins looked ready to wet themselves at the sight of Arthur’s manic smile. They knew how to get around Molly, but no one—not Snape, or Molly, or Moody—could get around Arthur when he was in this sort of mood.

 

“But dear, I need their help cleaning!”

 

“Well, Molly, you have the other adults, including the actual owner of this house, and Ginny did such a good job on that bathroom yesterday, she surely is your best worker!” His daughter paled.

 

“Dad,” Ginny tried, “what about your job?”

 

“Oh, Perkins has been trying to get me to take my vacation for ages,” Arthur said cheerfully. “I have two whole months of PTO saved up, you know.”

 

His children looked apprehensive. Good. Well, he didn’t know what Filius was up to, but if he was bringing little Hermione Granger back in September, Arthur was determined to surprise both of them with new, improved Weasley children.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Albus Dumbledore beamed around the Staff Lounge. His minions—er, he meant, employees—were sitting in various chairs, looking annoyed. He did so enjoy these summer meetings; the Staff really had no excuses to leave early and so every meeting was very productive indeed.

 

“Get on with it, Albus,” snapped Severus. “My current brew is in a very critical stage.”

 

Except Severus, that is, he was indeed a busy man! Albus had to admit meetings tended to be more productive without the fellow there, anyway, not that he’d ever admit that. Admitting Severus was an annoyance even in his best moods would simply give Minerva leverage. “Well, welcome to the second biweekly meeting of July!” He opened his arms wide. “Does anyone have urgent business to bring up first?”

 

Minerva said, “Defense Against Dark Arts.”

 

“Ah, yes. Well, I have been of course working on that, with little luck.” His eyes twinkled, “It seems that people think the position is cursed—imagine that!”

 

“Yes, imagine that,” said Septima drily. “A possessed man, a fraud, a werewolf and an escaped Azkaban convict—I can hardly wait to find out who you scrape from the sludge at the bottom of the barrel next, Headmaster.”

 

“Really, ’tis the highlight of my summer,” said Poppy Pomfrey. “I do so need to know what to stock the infirmary with this year. Hair care potions? Wolfsbane? Odorkiller? Don’t leave us in suspense, sir!”

 

“Albus,” said Severus grudgingly, “Perhaps, if you can find no one else, I could teach it.”

 

“Alas, my dear boy! I would have a much more difficult time replacing such a fine potions master as yourself. No, no, I’m sure someone will apply any day now.” Even if the Governors were to allow a pardoned Death Eater to teach Defense, they would object to the idea of an unqualified individual teaching Potions far more. He already had the Ministry on his back, he didn’t need the bloody Governors sticking their noses in. Last time that had happened, he’d ended up with Flitwick. Not that there was anything wrong with that—the chap really was a wonderful Charms teacher—but well, one could never be really sure about goblins, could they? Such a very fickle lot. Filius had never even mentioned his holiday!

 

“Since that matter has concluded, I wondered if anyone had heard from our dear Professor Flitwick?”

 

“I already told you what his letter said, Albus,” Hooch drummed her nails against the staff table.

 

“Yes, and you were entirely wrong,” said Albus heatedly.

 

“Oh, wonderful, you’re regained your ability to read now,” said Minerva. “I suppose I can cancel that appointment I made for you at your optometrist.”

 

“Minerva, dear, how kind for you to be so concerned for my eyesight.” Albus ground his teeth. Minerva scheduled an optometry appointment when she objected to his robe design, opinion on Snape’s hygiene, or observation about the weather. Why couldn’t she just be happy? “So, Filius,” he prompted. “He didn’t mention summer plans to me.”

 

“Well, it’s summer break,” pointed out Sprout, “We never mention our summer plans to you in general. Filius isn’t even paid for this time, sir, as he has no plants or animals, or true summer duties.”

 

“Well,” said Albus, “I wondered if he may be a bit emotional still over the fact that I took him off Muggleborn duty.”

 

Minerva drew in a deep breath, “Oh, you mean the completely voluntary work he does for me in the summer to lighten my own duties? Because he is a good friend, willing to sacrifice the time he’d otherwise spend pursuing his own interests?”

 

“My dear girl! I had no idea you felt so overwhelmed—I’m sure Severus would be quite willing to help you.”

 

“Severus wouldn’t,” said Severus. “Severus has entirely too much on his plate already, and besides, Severus doesn’t enjoy sniveling brats.”

 

Pomona Sprout said, “And they certainly don’t enjoy you, Severus. Are you finished pondering Filius’ summer plans, Headmaster?”

 

“It was simply unexpected. Wherever did he go?”

 

“No doubt somewhere with beaches and little tiny paper umbrellas,” said Hooch. “Bastard didn’t invite me; perhaps I should go find him. Oh, Minerva, fancy some tropical fish? Argus should bring Mrs. Norris along too!”

 

“No, no,” said Albus hurriedly. He could lose all of his staff if he didn’t nip this in the bud. “I’m sure Filius just wanted a bit of peace and quiet. Best to respect that.”

 

“Mebbe,” said Filch, “He’s after a bit of exercise if y’know what I mean.” He began to gyrate his hips lewdly. Minerva wolf whistled, and Hooch leapt up on the table and began to gyrate along with him.

 

BANG! The staff returned their attentions to Albus, who had his wand in the air. “Now, now, I know students aren’t around, my dears, but we must always attempt to set a good example.”

 

“Albus, “ said Minerva, “These meetings are only supposed to cover business. If you are talking about Filius, we aren’t talking about business, so naturally, we assumed that the meeting was over.”

 

“No, Minerva, I was simply concerned for one of my senior staff.” Even Filch looked skeptical. If he couldn’t convince a squib…perhaps he was losing his touch. No, merely having an off day, that’s all.

 

“Ahem. The main business of this meeting is the appointing of Prefects and Head Boy and Head Girl.”

 

“We all submitted that to you in May, Albus,” said Sprout, crossly. “Perhaps you shouldn’t cancel that appointment after all, Minerva.”

 

“Yes, well, I had a few concerns.”

 

“Oh?” Drawled Severus. “Let me guess, concerns about my Slytherins.”

 

“No, indeed, dear boy. I’m sure young Draco will really rise to the occasion. No, no, it’s about the Gryffindors.”

 

“Which candidate?” Asked Minerva forcefully.

 

Albus mentally winced. He knew she wouldn’t like this, but it really was for the best. “Mr. Potter, my dear Minerva. He’s had such a difficult year.”

 

“Oh, indeed,” said Sprout, “But when we said that when his name came out of the Goblet, I believe seem to remember someone saying “adversity builds character .”

 

“Idle hands are the devil’s playground,” quoted Septima.

 

“It’ll be such a chance for the boy to shine,” said Severus nastily.

 

“He really is so mature beyond his years,” said Burbage.

 

Albus held his hands up in reproach. “I know, I know. But he’s not the best student is he?” Damn. Shouldn’t have said that. Perhaps he should give up on this—no, truly, it would help placate the Weasleys.

 

“There is more to the position than academics, but fair point,” said Minerva. “Well, then, I’ll send the badge to Mr. Thomas instead.”

 

“No, Minerva, I had someone quite different in mind.”

 

“But of course you did,” Minerva heaved a sigh. “All right. Since you apparently know better than me about my Gryffindors, who do you feel is the best candidate?”

 

“Why, young Ronald, naturally!”

 

Burbage choked on her tea. The others just stared, flabbergasted.

 

“You’ll need to explain your logic there,” said Minerva, in an overly calm voice. “For one thing, your objection to Harry Potter was his grades—Harry is in the middle of the pack, while young Mr. Weasley is…”

 

“The definition of dead last.” Said Severus. “And that really says something, given that his year mates include Crabbe and Goyle.”

 

“At least their handwriting is legible,” said Minerva.

 

“Yes,” said Madam Sprout, “and for someone with as many siblings as he has, he really seems to struggle to get along with others. That temper, you know.”

 

“His general attitude,” said Hooch, “is less than conducive to a classroom environment. And I teach a subject he actually enjoys! But I’m constantly having to chivvy him to properly store equipment.”

 

“All good points! I feel that this will give him the confidence he really needs to step up and make something of himself! And after all, I’m not sure it would be the wisest idea to have two Muggleborn prefects in the same year. Surely Miss Granger would benefit from having a Magic-raised colleague.” His staff still looked unconvinced. “Besides, I’m sure she’ll be able to teach him the ropes.”

 

“Lead him around by the balls,” said Argus.

 

“Lecture him until he does whatever she wants just to shut her up,” said Severus, scowling. He side-eyed Minerva. He’d have expected an explosion of Mt. Scotswoman by now—this was Albus’ stupidest idea yet, but his colleague seemed to be thinking. Oh, joy.

 

Minerva said, “So, Headmaster, are you saying that if someone else is Gryffindor Prefect for the girls, you’d be open to another choice for the male prefect?”

 

Albus was taken aback. “Surely you would not deprive your favorite student her prize simply because you feel her best friend is an unlikely candidate?”

 

Minerva said, “Why, of course not. But Albus, Miss Granger has not even agreed yet, and if she for whatever reason cannot perform the job, I simply can’t think of another girl who will work well with Ronald.”

 

Severus narrowed his eyes and looked around. He smelled a rat, and its name was Filius Flitwick. All of the goblin’s usual cohorts were looking innocent, and like it was at all plausible that Granger would reject the badge. It wasn’t. Granger would love to lord that badge over her year mates. What the hell was going on?

 

Albus shrugged. Well, if young Hermione even considered refusing, he’d have Molly talk to her. That would fix that! “Very well, Minerva. You do know your lions best.” His eyes twinkled. “Now shoo! Off to enjoy the lovely sunshine, all of you1”

 

“It’s raining,” said Madam Sprout. “Thunderstorms all day! Minerva, perhaps he should see a hearing specialist as well.”

 

“No, no, completely unnecessary,” Albus said hurriedly. “I meant, the sunshine in London, where I will be all weekend.”

 

“Enjoy yourself then,” said Hooch. “I’ll be drowning me sorrows on the Isle of Skye. Minerva and Sprout think I need to relax, you know, I got me hopes up about those brooms again.”

 

“Enjoy, then, ladies,” Albus beamed and walked away. At least Molly appreciated him, and it would be rather nice to have her children hang onto his every word. Surely they must be desperate for entertainment! Yes, a few days at Grimmauld place were just the ticket.

 

Hooch said, “Well, c’mon, ladies, let our wild weekend begin. Sevvie, did you want to come? Argus?”

 

Severus sneered and nearly sprinted down the hall. Argus said, “Normally, I would, but a weekend to work without the Headmaster about sounds like Nirvana. Go get ‘em, broads.” He placed a smacking kiss on Minerva’s cheek and sauntered towards his favorite broom closet. (He had at least ten, and probably several others the teachers didn’t know about.)

 

“I don’t really want to go to Skye,” said Minerva. “We can’t drink here?”

 

“Filius, remember, only will drink with us in the Latin countries,” said Hooch briskly. “We aren’t going to Skye at all. Go pack your kits, we’ve a clever goblin to go see.”

 

They met up at the gate. “London,” said Hooch shortly. The three women apparated to the Leaky. “Where now,” said Sprout. “This had best be a short trip, friend, I’m dead tired."

 

“Owl office, then King’s Cross.” Hooch said. “I’ll send him an owl to let him know we’re coming. We’ll take the night train to Venice instead a Portkey—takes a while for an owl to reach Venice, and it’d be best not to show up with no notice.”

 

Her friends stared at her bewildered. “Venice?” Asked Sprout?

 

“You mean he doesn’t know we’re coming?” Minerva cried.

 

“The lass he’s been courting had an interesting idea, see,” said Hooch. “But he wants to run it past me, and you need a word with them over the prefect position. Sooner the better.”

 

Minerva opened and closed her mouth.

“You mean,” said Sprout quietly, “She said yes? His plan is bearing fruit already?”

 

"It's been less than a week," whispered Minerva. "Surely not!

“You know goblins,” said Hooch. “Why wait when mischief can be had?”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a bashing fic (I mean, unless we count Albus being crazy (canon) and Dursley torture (I don't).) But there's just no way that same head of house named Percy Prefect would name Ron prefect. Don't get me wrong, I don't think Harry should have gotten it either. There are three other candidates, presumably better students, who broke fewer rules and got along with more people.
> 
> Ron really is the slacker friend. It's not bashing him to say so. I like Ron. I just don't think at any point any of his professors would look at him and say "now there's a great student and role model.".


	9. All Aboard!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ladies hit the road, and truth hits home for Minerva.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for a good Hogwarts Staff fic. One of the few things I like about the Marriage law trope is that sometimes the stories flesh out those characters.
> 
> And the train was inspired by Archer. Alas, Hooch doesn't seem to be the ocelot owning sort. Hm. Maybe Hagrid would like a pet...

The Magical Overnight Trans-continental and Circumnavigator Express, departing from platform 1 and Five-Eighths of King’s Cross Station, was neither truly overnight nor Express. It took thirty-seven hours to get from London to Venice due the fact that it went via Galway, Stockholm, Dresden, Austria, Paris, and several other places prior to arriving in Venice. It was one of the Great Old World Railways, and many Wizarding Families actually owned their own cars that they would hook on to make the whole circuit. It was less a form of transportation, and more a rite of passage, a way of life, and a way to catch up with old friends (or in the case of Hooch’s father, old enemies).

 

Rolanda vowed that her father would never know she willingly booked a spot on the Train. She’d hated everything about it until the year Hagrid had convinced her and Flitwick to take it the whole length of the route with him. He’d never ridden the train, and suddenly, she could see how it must look through a newcomers’ eyes. There were dining halls and dwarf bars, ballrooms and dueling rings. Those co-workers went on to become her greatest (first) friends, and the train was the catalyst. They played countless card games in the lounge car and talked in hushed voices from their bunks, deep into the night. It was one of the very few places that they could all move about without glamours, for all sorts of magical folk rode the train; it a was a Declared Neutral Territory.

 

Minerva had never taken the train, and was deeply skeptical.

 

“We could sleep in a nonmoving bed at a luxury hotel tonight, and get a Portkey in the morning, and _still_ get there faster,” she complained. “We’ve only got seventy-two hours before Albus returns.”

 

“Yes,” said Sprout, “But we don’t actually need all seventy-two hours with Filius, Minerva, and the train is a delightful way to see some scenery.”

 

“Venice is plenty scenic, I’m sure,” argued Minerva.

 

“You’ve never been to Venice?” Asked Rolanda. “Truly?” They filed onto the train; the steward led them to their cabin, and Sprout thankfully flopped onto one of the bunks.

 

“Argus and I keep talking about it,” she said sadly, “But, you know, the War, then the rebuilding, and then Albus’ inanity with Mr. Potter.” She looked around at the art nouveau glass windows and plush velvet armchairs. “His mother bought us a ticket voucher for this for our honeymoon, you know.”

 

Sprout raised her brows. “Argus’s Mother, a Squib, bought you, a half blood, tickets for a magical train?”

 

“Oh, his mum’s not Squib, she’s a changeling.”

 

Rolanda blinked. “Er, what sort of changeling?”

 

The Scotswoman shrugged, “Are there many types?”

 

“Yes,” hissed Hooch. “There are.” Changeling just referred to a member of the fey who had been switched for a Human.

 

“Leave it be. If she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know,” said Sprout, “At least that answers a few of my questions about Argus.”

 

“Anyway,” said Minerva, “It feels a little wrong to ride without him, and I was hoping for at least a few days in Venice.” She sat down in one armchair and smoothed her skirt.

 

“We can stay longer, dear,” said Sprout. “Summer hols, y’know.”

 

“Albus—“

 

“Albus can go hang,” said Hooch, frustrated. “You realize that you’ve set Filius and the rest of us on a course that will take us into direct conflict with Albus? That nothing we do at the school this summer will matter in the long run, because with any luck, by this time next year, the children will be safe, Voldemort will be dead, and we’ll all be out of a job?”

 

“Oh.” Minerva breathed. “No. I hadn’t quite seen it like that.”

 

“Goblins are efficient, child,” said Sprout. “The second Filius decided to take action, Albus got a big ol’ bullseye on his back. And no Flitwick has ever resolved a dispute in a sane and rational manner.” She got to her feet. “Now, dear, why don’t you take a bath, and we’ll go find us all some supper. Take a bit of time to think about everything, hm?”

 

“Yes,” said Rolanda, “because my friend, before you face Hermione and Filius, you need to have decided whether you’re for the Horde or for Albus. You need to decide if it’s better for Harry to live for the fey—live with us—or die as a human, for the likes of Albus Dumbledore.”

 

Minerva nodded thoughtfully. “All right. Thank you.” She opened up her case, and rummaged around for her bath kit as Sprout and Rolanda left the cabin, sliding the door shut behind them.

 

Pomona said softly, as they walked through the train, “This was a good idea, Rolanda. She needs time to process, and I think we need the time to get a few things through that thick Scottish skull of hers.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Rolanda uneasily, “But Pomona, I’m no fey, you know, and I don’t know where to start.”

 

“You’re no human either,” said Sprout. “Not with the way you act on the grounds and in the air, lass. Anyway, I reckon I can provide the fey information. You can provide the insight into Filius. I was surprised by his choice to marry Hermione. You were not. Why?”

 

“I think Minerva would be better able to explain that, if she’s willing.”

 

“Hm. All right. I must say, I am looking forward to this trip; I don’t think I’ve been on this train for at least a century.”

 

They bought sandwiches and returned to their berths; Minerva was already asleep, with her back to them, so they whispered good night, and climbed into their own bunks. The train rocked them to sleep; when they woke up, it would be morning.

* * *

 

 

Minerva was sitting upright, in an armchair, fully dressed when her friends awoke. She looked up to see them blinking sleepily at her and said, “Finally! Ye slept until 8 am, ye bums. It’s beautiful weather, but woman cannae subsist on sights alone. I want toast! Eggs! Sausage!”

She carefully sealed the letter she’d been writing into an envelope and stood to stretch. “Well?” She demanded.

 

“Er. Morning, Minerva,” Said Pomona. “Sleep well?” She climbed out of her bunk and pulled a long cotton dress on.

 

“Aye.”

 

“Have a chance to think things through last night?” Asked Rolanda, hunting for the bra she’d flung in a corner before falling asleep.

 

“Aye."

 

“Well?” They chorused.

 

Minerva grinned. “There a way to send mail on this train, me lasses?”

 

“Yes,” said Pomona. “What do you need to mail?”

 

“Invitation to Argus to join us. He’ll get up to mischief if I leave him in Hogwarts all summer.” She said.

 

“Does that mean—“ Rolanda could barely allow herself to hope.

 

“How could ye even doubt?” Minerva crossed her arms. “Ye are my friends. Argus an’ I always planned to walk into the OtherRealm when Filius left, and I s’pose it makes little difference if we do that next year or in twenty years—oof!” Her friends came over to hug her tightly.

 

“Oh, darling, I’m so happy,” sniffed Sprout.

 

“Even if Filius had never intervened?” Asked Rolanda.

 

“Yes! Even then, but I’ll not explain more until ye’ve fed me.”

 

The other woman laughed and hurriedly got ready. They knew withholding a cat’s food was indeed a dangerous proposition.

 

 

Light streamed in through the windows of the dining car. The women sat in silence, watching the countryside roll by, until their food popped into place in front of them.

 

“Oh! Real china, still.” Minerva smiled. “I miss that, you know, on the Muggle trains.”

 

“I’ve never ridden a Muggle train,” said Rolanda, “Only this one.”

 

“Well, even back then, they weren’t nearly so nice in second class. This is luxury indeed!”

 

“This one isn’t so nice in second class,” said Sprout, amused. “Welcome to first class. Are you sure you’d not like compensation for the fare, Ro? I am glad to do so.”

 

“No,” said Rolanda, cutting into her sausage. “It’s no big deal; I’ve always traveled First, and I’m doing it more for the food than your own comfort.”

 

“You’ve never struck me as wealthy,” said Minerva in surprise.

 

Rolanda shrugged. “I mostly live off my own income, and Hogwarts isn’t really a place for the finer things. Also, spending my father’s money, while fun, generally leads to interaction with him. Under normal circumstances, that’s a big no thanks for me.”

 

“Is he difficult?” Minerva spread jam onto her toast. “From what I gather from Filius, he was more mischievous.”

 

“Fil likes ‘m,” said Rolanda. “So does Hagrid. Anyone those two agree on, you should stay far away from. They also agree, for example, on Harry and Hermione. I reckon it’s only a matter of time before my father saunters his way to Scotland. Mad necromantic sorcerer, stupid mortals, and goblins—it’s exactly the sort of thing the old man thrives on.”

 

“Harry and Hermione are good children,” said Minerva, “I know you fly sometimes with Harry.”

 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him. I just mean he’s a source of chaos.” She took a drink of coffee.“Right. You actually ready to talk, now?”

 

Minerva nodded. “May I ask both you a question first? It may be rude—I’m not very good at finding the line between fey impertinence and rudeness.”

 

Sprout stirred her oatmeal. “We’re your friends, and therefore, you’re allowed some leeway. Shoot.”

 

“I know from things Fil has said that neither of you are human. This is a Neutral Territory, yet you still wear your glamours. Do y’think I’ll be upset by your true faces or is it just habit?”

 

The other women appeared startled but thoughtful.

 

“Have you seen Fil without his glamour then, lass? “ Asked Sprout.

 

“Yes,” said Minerva, “He doesn’t really like wearing it, so years ago, when he helped Argus with his glamour, Argus said in repayment Fil would never wear his own glamour within the walls of our dwelling, unless he so chose. He never has. We don’t allow Albus in, y’know, because it’s the only truly safe spot in the castle for Argus to be himself.” She frowned and sipped her tea. “I do hope Hermione doesn’t ask that he wears it; I’ve been fretting over her making him unhappy, y’know.”

 

“We rather thought you were worried about Hermione,” said Sprout.

 

“Oh, I care for the child, but I’d not trade Fil’s heart for her safety.”

 

Rolanda sighed with relief. “I must confess to doubting you. I’m sorry, Min.”

 

Sprout said, “Honesty for honesty then. I’ve worked at Hogwarts so long that I remember Filius as a firstie. The glamour is habit.” It faded away to reveal a merry looking female dwarf.

 

“Earth magic,” said Minerva, “that explains so much! How about you, Rolanda?"

 

“Oh, no, my dear, we should guess. In my very long life span, I’ve yet to meet someone exactly like Rolanda.”

 

Rolanda rolled her eyes. “Can I take off my glamour? That will make it challenging enough, and you’ll be half right.”

 

“Even more intrigued!” Sprout clapped her hands. “Go!”

 

Before them was a young Medusa; her head was covered with golden vipers, her eyes were still the same yellow, and her nails were bronze.

 

“Well, Medusa in part, obviously,” Sprout said.

 

Rolanda nodded, “That; everyone guesses.”

 

“I thought Medusas had natural coloring,” said Minerva, confused. “Not that you’re not stunning, my friend, but…” she stalled.

 

“I’m an oddity,” said Rolanda, “Yes. Those that have heard of me would know instantly what I am; those that have not, rarely guess at my father’s blood.”

 

“I admit to being quite stumped,” said Sprout brightly. “Plenty of time to guess. Who has guessed correctly?”

 

“Hagrid, of course,” said Hooch. “S’pose there’s not much he doesn’t know about monstrous crossbreeds.”

 

“Don’t joke that way,” cried Minerva.

 

“I’m not really being facetious, Min. And I think I’ll put my glamour back on, for your safety,” Hooch’s human face flickered back into view. “Even my parents consider me monstrous.”

 

Her friends stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to that.

 

 


End file.
